Situations
by OtakuEntertainmentInc
Summary: Life is full of situations, whether they're small and everyday, or nearly out-of-control. From their teenage years to the lives of soldiers, and anything in between, a collection of Royza-centred short stories. Rated M for violence, language, and the occasional innuendo.
1. Burn, Baby, Burn

_A/N: Written on the heels of harping on my boyfriend that if he didn't wear sunscreen at an anime convention, he'd burn. In my words, "You're like Roy versus a piece of toast. And you're the toast." He did escape unscathed . . . because stayed inside the convention hall half the time, the cheater-pants. =) _

* * *

__**Burn, Baby, Burn**

Gingerly, wincing every inch of the way, Roy eased his hands into the sink of icy cold water. It prickled across the angry red skin of his palms and fingertips, like he was pressing down on a bed of tiny nails. He hissed involuntarily as two fingers brushed the bottom of the sink, making the pain sharper.

". . . What happened?"

Looking back over his shoulder, he spotted Riza standing the doorway, watching him with a half-curious, half-exasperated expression. "Oh, hey. You're early."

"Maybe that's a good thing." Setting her shoulder bag on the floor, she crossed the room toward him, leaning over the sink to see the problem. "You're having some difficulty with the research material?"

"Some," he admitted, looking back at his hands. "It's . . . a little more volatile than I would have thought."

"Exactly why Father wanted to be careful who learned it," Riza answered solemnly. Her brown eyes glanced toward him in a reproving look. "And you can't say I didn't warn you this might happen. If you play with fire, you get burned."

"Who's playing?" he shot back. The words were barely out of his mouth before he felt guilty for the bite in his tone. Riza looked away, down into the sink of water. ". . . . Sorry. That was –"

"It's fine," she said, cutting him off as she turned away. "I've trusted you this far; I should trust that you can learn from this and move on."

He watched as she went to one of the cupboards and opened it, reaching inside. ". . . . What are you doing?"

Taking a box of teabags from a shelf, Riza selected one, then moved to the next cupboard along. "I'm going to help you. If you want to get back to work, you're going to need to speed up the healing process, and minimize discomfort along the way." Taking a bowl, she filled it with water from the sink, then dropped the teabag into it.

"How is cold tea going to help?"

Carefully picking up the teabag between her thumb and forefinger, Riza squeezed it gently, watching as pale brown liquid almost the colour of her eyes trickled out. "It will keep the skin from peeling, for one thing. And it takes away the burning feeling. Give me your hand."

Withdrawing one hand from the sink, he held it out to her. Wetting the bag once more, she dabbed it gently across the burns, leaving behind brown drops on the skin. The coolness felt much better than the cold of the water in the sink; Roy sighed once in satisfaction.

"I knew there was a reason I like having you around," he muttered, eyes closing in relief as the burning began to fade.

"And here I thought it was because of my looks, and not my usefulness or a history of being able to stand you," Riza answered in dry sarcasm. Taking his other hand from the sink, she repeated the procedure, wetting the teabag again every few minutes. The kitchen sank into silence as she worked, and Roy soaked up the attention.

His eyes opened as her fingers touched his chin, turning his face to one side. "Looks like you got your nose and forehead as well."

"What? Really?" He looked toward the nearest reflective surface - the window above the sink.

"It's either that, or you've recently become an alcoholic," she said, one hand turning him to look at her again. "Your nose in particular is bright red. Hold still."

He watched this time as she worked – watched those brown eyes focussing on him as gentle fingers dabbed soothing relief across his nose and cheekbones. Riza had an air of calm he hadn't seen for a long time; she had been tense when he visited Master Hawkeye after finishing at the military academy, quiet and drawn in the days leading up to and after the funeral . . . . He had wondered if she was holding it together at all, or simply moving mechanically, going through the motions of everyday life from muscle memory and instinct.

Roy knew now that she would be all right.

Brushing the teabag one final time across his forehead, Riza surveyed her handiwork. "It will have to be done again later, especially on your nose, but that should do for now." She gave him an admonishing look. "Of course, if you're more careful in the future, you won't have to worry about it at all."

"Okay, fine." He rolled his eyes. "I'll be more careful. Are you happy now?"

"Not really. You're just saying that to shut me up." She turned away to put the box of tea back on the shelf. "Knowing you, though, I suppose you'll learn your lesson sooner or later."

Seeing his chance, Roy stepped close behind her, bracing one hand either side of her on the counter as he leaned forward. "If this has taught me anything, it's two things." Her sideswept bangs tickled against his forehead as he spoke softly into her ear. "First, that you're right - playing with fire can get you burned. And second, I'm very lucky to have someone like you to look after me when I do."

"And if I wasn't here? What would you have done?"

"Stood with my hands in the sink for a couple hours, looking and feeling like an idiot." He was too close; her scent was starting to weave itself around him, drive him crazy. "Like I said, I'm very lucky to have someone so smart and beautiful to look after me when I screw up."

He was forced to lean back as Riza turned to face him, her expression giving nothing away. "You're awfully bold today, Mr. Mustang. Is this how a military officer acts?"

"An officer _and_ a gentleman." He lifted an eyebrow. "Do you still want to go for dinner, or stay here?"

"The way your face looks right now? We can stay here; I don't mind." She half-smiled. "After all, someone has to look after you, and that includes making sure you eat properly."


	2. Bloodsoaked

_A/N: This one's a little darker, so if you're sensitive to stuff like this, you might wanna skip it :/ In other news, a shoutout to kasumin for the review!_

* * *

__**Blood-soaked**

He was shoved through the door, hands cuffed behind him, to the accompanying sound of a nearby scream. Roy's eyes shot toward the grate in the room's floor, widening as tightness spread through his chest. He knew that voice.

"RIZA!"

She was in a tiny room below the grate, lying on a rough stone slab looking up at him, her hands shackled to the corners. A man stood behind her head with a knife pressed against the side of her neck, looking up with a nasty smile. Blood trickled from a deep gash on her leg and from various other cuts scattered across her body; Roy didn't know which had triggered her scream.

"Glad to see a familiar face, Colonel?" Sweeping into the room behind his prisoner, a well-dressed Mr. Lon Nosser closed the door with a smirk. "A shame that you can't meet under happier circumstances."

Dark eyes glared daggers at him. "Why would you drag her into this?" Roy snapped. "What has she got to do with it?"

Nosser's smirk dissolved into a glare of his own. "Don't get testy with me, Mustang. I know exactly what that little lady means to you; what you'd be willing to do to keep her safe, and how high you'll jump if I . . . push the right button . . . ." He snapped his fingers at the grate.

Roy could only watch as the knife opened a new slash of red across his lieutenant's cheek. Riza gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as the knifeman lifted his blade to his mouth, licking the blood from it with a sinister leer.

She swallowed hard, before calling "I'm all right, sir." Her eyes opened, the brown irises clear and clearly angry. "These bastards can't do anything to me that was worse than Ishval. You don't have to tell them anything."

He stared at her, wanting desperately to run to her, check for himself that she was really all right. He wanted it so badly that the tightness in his chest was turning into a full-blown ache. He also wanted to turn anyone else in this room into neat little piles of ash, but that could wait until he had his gloves back and Riza was free.

"He doesn't have to tell us anything," Nosser agreed, "but it would be so much easier if he would. Easier for both him and you, Lieutenant. Of course, it's entirely up to the Colonel . . . ."

The knife flashed again, drawing more blood, this time from Riza's arm; the cut was dangerously close to the artery in her wrist. Roy sank to his knees beside the grate, staring at the stream of red that trickled onto the stone slab. He saw her eyes widen as she realized how close he was to breaking.

"Roy, don't . . . ." His gaze met hers. "It's not worth it. Don't do it. Please."

He knew he had no choice. Between holding his silence and watching them kill his Riza, he'd make the same decision every time. His chin dropped to his chest in defeat.

". . . . What do you want to know?"

He almost heard the victorious grin spread across Nosser's face, as much as he heard Riza's shout of "NO!" from below him. Footsteps crossed toward him, and a hand rested on his shoulder. "You're doing the right thing, Colonel. And congratulations, you've just bought your young woman another few hours of life. So long as you continue to co-operate, that time might even be extended. Agreed?"

Roy opened his eyes, looking one last time at the brown-eyed blonde chained in the room below. Hurt, surprise, and disbelief mixed together in her expression, and the eyes that never cried were shining with unshed tears. That one look said it all: _How could you?_

"Agreed," he said heavily, looking away.

"Bronson, you may escort Lieutenant Hawkeye back to the holding cell," Nosser instructed the knifeman. "There will be no more persuading until further notice. Leave her there and return to me."

Riza didn't shift her gaze from him as the knifeman — Bronson — freed her wrists from the shackles and dragged her upright. "Roy, are you crazy? You can't do this! It doesn't matter what you tell them, they'll still kill us both! You have to —!" A meaty hand clamped itself over her mouth, drowning out the rest of her shouting as she was pulled from the room and out of sight.

"Let's not waste time, Mustang," Nosser said casually. "I've got several questions regarding the fortifications in Central at Laboratory Three; having been there yourself in an offensive capacity, I'm sure you can help me."

His mind was flashing images at him; images of blood and Riza. Ishval, and the blood of countless Ishvalans on their hands and clothes. Blood streaming from Riza's nose in East City; the result of a bar fight she had dived into to drag him out of. More blood on her clothes, his this time, in the aftermath of the battle with Lust . . . . There had been so much blood shed already, and these bastards had gone and spilled more. His eyes narrowed, as anger twisted in his stomach.

The brittle silence broke as Roy growled, "Like hell I will."

Dropping to his left, he rolled onto his back, one foot lashing out to catch Nosser squarely between the legs. The other man's eyes bulged as the breath froze in his lungs; almost in slow-motion, he doubled over and sank to the ground, clutching the offended spot.

Getting to his feet, Roy pressed one foot down on the back of his would-be interrogator's head, forcing Nosser's face against the hard stone floor. "Listen up and listen good, dirtbag. If you so much as twitch, you'll wind up on your own torture table, and I'll personally pay you back tenfold for every cut your man gave my Lieutenant. Understood?"

* * *

She paced the tiny room, ignoring the burning from the twenty-one cuts that had been inflicted on her. Riza didn't even notice the tremor in her left leg from the gash; she was too worried for Roy. What did he think he could gain from it? A few more hours meant nothing, not when no one else knew where they'd gone. No reinforcements were coming to help them this time.

Maybe he meant for her to use the time to create a plan. Maybe he hadn't thought that far ahead and had just wanted the 'persuasion' stopped. Reaching a wall, she stopped, pounding one fist against the cold stone. "Dammit . . . ." Pressing her forehead against it, she closed her eyes, trying to will herself awake from whatever nightmare this was.

Noise from outside told her there was nothing to wake up from. Riza looked over at the door and the angry shouting from the other side. There was a sound like rushing wind, then a heavy thud and more shouting before even that cut off abruptly. Footsteps, muffled by the thick wooden panel, approached as the smell of smoke drifted under the door.

That smell . . . she knew that smell. Putting one hand out to the wall, she leaned against it, allowing herself a relieved smile. He hadn't broken after all.

The lock clicked, and the door opened. "Riza?"

It took her a second to find her voice. ". . . Right here, sir."

Roy turned at the sound of her voice, those dark eyes anxiously seeking hers, relief evident when they found them. He closed the gap between them in two strides, arms folding around her in a hug. Riza buried her face in his shoulder, one hand gripping his shirt.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "This never should have happened." His hands found the sides of her face, pushing her back just enough so he could look at her. His eyes searched out the cut on her cheek, intense expression softening at the sight of it. "I keep adding scars onto you . . . ."

"Worry about your own scars," she countered. "Are you all right?"

"Just fine." He seemed to hold some private debate with himself for a few seconds before finally leaning close. His lips brushed her cheek, just to the side of the cut; Riza closed her eyes as the burning began to fade. "You're a trooper, Riza; you held up great." She felt his lips press against her forehead; her bangs shifted as his nose brushed them aside. "And I swear, I'll make this up to you."

When his lips found hers, the kiss was almost desperately apologetic. She knew how much he hated to put her in a dangerous position, and that the thought of losing her scared him just as much as she was terrified that something would happen to him. She touched his cheek gently, easing away.

"If you didn't tell Nosser anything and we get out of here within the next ten to fifteen minutes, I'll be happy," she said. A subtle reminder that, no matter what their feelings were right now, they still had to get out. "Are you ready?"

"Whenever you are," Roy confirmed, with a grim smile. Turning, they headed for the door together.


	3. Curiosity

_A/N: It's only a matter of time until any FMA fan realizes what this story points out . . . . _

* * *

**Curiosity**

Fuery watched Lieutenant Hawkeye leaving the room, her right hand carefully massaging the back of her left shoulder. Her expression didn't let on that she was having one of her strange episodes of back pain, but they all knew. Whenever her back was hurting, she talked even less than usual, and her footsteps became more careful and quiet as she tried to keep each step from jarring her spine.

"Colonel?" Fuery looked timidly over at his dark-haired superior. "Is Lieutenant Hawkeye going to be all right?"

Another side effect of the lieutenant's back pain was that it seemed to cause the colonel just as much discomfort. He was still staring at the door she'd disappeared through, his face drawn. Even from here, Fuery could tell that he was pensively worrying the inside of his lower lip with his teeth.

"She usually bounces back," Roy answered distractedly. He dropped his gaze back to the papers on his desk, going back to filling them out; another oddity. He wasn't complaining, stalling, starting to drop off . . . . If Fuery didn't know better, he would say that the colonel was deliberately trying to give the lieutenant one less thing to worry about by getting his work done.

Something was very strange around this office, and it was only his second week. Fuery wondered if it would be overstepping his limits if he tried to find out what that strange thing was . . . .

* * *

The sub-basement of the East City Military Headquarters was a dark, silent place after hours. During the work day, at least, it was a _light_, silent place; the curators of the archives contained there turned out every light before leaving.

Fuery stood at the top of the steps, seeing his entire plan fall to pieces and drop into the yawning abyss of the night-black stairwell. He had no idea where the light switches were, no flashlight, not so much as a match to see by; he supposed that turning on the lights would only alert guards that someone was somewhere they weren't supposed to be. With a sigh, Fuery turned to leave.

"Psst!"

His head whipped back around at the noise; a flashlight clicked on at the bottom of the stairs, illuminating the face of Jean Havoc. "You're not giving up that easy, are you?" he hissed, grinning.

Hurrying down the stairs, Fuery kept his voice at a whisper. "What are you doing here, sir?"

"You think you're the only one who's curious?" Breda materialized out of the shadows on Fuery's right. "We've known something was up between the Colonel and Lieutenant since we started. You're the first to actually make a move to look into it."

"But . . . how did you know I was going to check it out?" Fuery looked back and forth between the two officers, bewildered. "I didn't say anything!"

"You acted suspiciously following your conversation with the Colonel regarding Lieutenant Hawkeye." Fuery jumped, then spun to find Falman standing behind him. "Given the nature of the topic and the fact that you know exactly where to locate personnel files, we deduced that it was only a matter of time before you attempted to find out just what it is that's going on."

"So you gonna help us find those files, or what?" Havoc pressed, leaning on Fuery's shoulder. "You want to find out what our superiors are up to behind our backs, don't you?"

The youngest member of the so-called 'Mustang Unit' hesitated for only a second before ducking out from under Havoc's arm and taking his flashlight. "Follow me."

The first row of shelves he led them down was labelled at the start with a sign that read 'Personnel Files: K–M.' At the far end, tucked into a box between 'Mullarkey, Ryan' and 'Myre, Colin' was a file with a bright green stamp of the State alchemists' crest and the name 'Mustang, Roy.' Fuery pulled it out and passed it to Breda.

The red-headed man hefted it, letting out a low whistle. "Look at the size of this thing . . . . You'd think he'd been in the military for thirty years . . . ."

Fuery was already heading back the way they'd come . . . and taking the only light with him; the other three hurried to catch up. Up out of the K–M section, and over three rows to the start of the H–J section. Another moment of searching for the right box, then the right file.

"There should be some tables closer to the stairs," Fuery said, turning away again. The flashlight picked out the worn wooden surfaces just metres away, and the little group crossed toward them. Chairs scraped on the floor as they settled in to their snooping.

Roy's file was first. Opening it first revealed a page listing his personal information: full name, date of birth, date of enlistment, height, weight, gender, next of kin. A black-and-white photograph of a younger Roy was paper-clipped to the file. His hair was shorter, and the serious expression seemed out of place on the young face, but the dark eyes were the same.

Havoc leaned close, frowning. "Wait a minute . . . that bar it says that his aunt owns . . . . I've been there before, when I was passing through Central." His eyes widened as he fully grasped the implications. "Damn, I think I hit on my boss's aunt!"

Fuery wasn't listening; he turned past the rest of the military records — fitness reports, psychological evaluations, notices of promotion — to the next section in the file – a copy of Roy's State alchemist's license. The same basic information was given as on the military record, with two differences. Under 'Alias' was written 'Flame Alchemist,' and under 'Alchemical Instructor' was the name 'Berthold Hawkeye.'

". . . . Guys?" He touched a finger to the surname. "You . . . you don't think that . . . ."

All motion ceased for a full three seconds before there was a mad scramble for the file marked with the lieutenant's name. A cursory glance at the photograph of a young woman with short-cropped blonde hair, and then all four pairs of eyes were skimming down to the next of kin. In the now-Lieutenant's handwriting, the name 'Berthold Hawkeye (father)' was crossed out, as was the word 'none.' It had been replaced by the words 'Lt.-General Grumman (maternal grandfather)' in someone else's script.

Breda stared. "She's related to a general? No wonder she gets promoted faster than other women in the military . . . ."

"I highly doubt the Lieutenant uses her familial connection to rise in the ranks," Falman said. "That would be both unethical and completely outside her character."

"You guys are missing the point!" Fuery exclaimed. "The Lieutenant's father was the Colonel's alchemy teacher. That means they must have known each other when they were younger, right? He joined up when he was eighteen, so he probably started learning alchemy when he was . . . fifteen? Which would make the Lieutenant twelve or thirteen . . . ." He shook his head. "Wow . . . I got the feeling they knew each other, but I thought it was just from Ishval."

"It's a pretty sweet story," Havoc said, smiling slightly. "Two kids grow up together, fight a war together, then end up working together after all that time . . . . No wonder they're able to do that 'secret communication' thing."

Fuery frowned. "Secret communication?"

"You know, that thing they do where they look at each other, and you could swear they're having their own private conversation?" the sandy-blond man shrugged. "They don't do it a lot; I've only seen it once or twice, but I swear that's what happens."

Propping his chin in his hand, Fuery looked down at the two files. Another photograph, sticking out from behind one of Lieutenant Hawkeye's fitness reports caught his attention; he tugged it free . . . and promptly dropped it. "Holy cow!"

The other leaned forward . . . and froze. After a moment, Falman cleared his throat and looked away; Breda's eyes seemed like they were going to pop out of his head. Havoc gave a low whistle.

"I knew the military required photographic evidence of all tattoos . . . never thought she would have one." He slid the picture carefully back under cover. "Normally, they just want to make sure you don't have any anti-military sentiments or symbols . . . . I have no idea what that is."

"It's alchemical in nature, but I don't recognize it," Falman murmured.

Silence descended on the dark room for a moment, before Fuery guiltily closed the file. "We should put these back and go, before the night guards find us down here."

* * *

"Master Sergeant, is there a reason why you keep looking at me like that?"

Jolted back to reality, Fuery belatedly dropped his gaze back to his desk, trying – and failing – to force back the blush working its way onto his face. He was glad no one else was in the office this early in the morning, to see his embarrassment. "S-Sorry, Lieutenant. I was just . . . thinking."

A half-amused smile tugged at the corner of Hawkeye's mouth. "And that requires you to stare at me?"

"N-No! I just . . . I mean . . . . I didn't mean to stare at you, ma'am, I really didn't!" Now completely flustered, Fuery slumped in his chair. "I really am sorry."

"It's all right." Hawkeye tilted her head to one side. "If there's something on your mind, would you like to talk about it?"

Fuery shifted, trying to think of how he could get answers without revealing his not-so-legal snooping. "Well . . . . I was just wondering how you and Colonel Mustang met."

If the question surprised her, it didn't show in her expression. She merely folded her hands on the top of her desk, looking steadily back at him. "As soldiers, we met on the Ishvalan battlefield. However, I knew him from before he enlisted, as my father's alchemy apprentice."

"Really?" Feigning ignorance, Fuery worked at keeping his expression innocent. "So your father is the one who taught him Flame Alchemy?"

That drew a small reaction; a slight twitch of a muscle in her cheek. "No. My father is the man who developed the theories and formula for Flame Alchemy, though he never taught it to the colonel. He was forced to figure that part out on his own."

Theories . . . formula . . . . And Falman had said that the tattoo on the Lieutenant's back was definitely alchemical in nature. It all fit. Fuery got to his feet. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Lieutenant. If you don't mind, I think I'll go down to the cafeteria and get some coffee."

With a nod of acknowledgement, Hawkeye looked back to her work. "You're welcome, Master Sergeant."

He hurried from the room before she could notice that his mind had kicked into overdrive, moving briskly through the hallways and down two levels to the cafeteria. Right about now, the others should be getting their own coffee before going up to the office; he had to speak to them before they did.

Sure enough, the three others were grouped beside one of the dispensers beside the main serving window, all holding mugs with steam curling above them. Fuery hurried up, completely forgetting to salute his superiors.

"I confirmed it!" he said excitedly, voice barely low enough to avoid eavesdroppers. "Lieutenant Hawkeye's father _was _the Colonel's alchemy teacher, but he wasn't the one to show him how to use Flame Alchemy. All he did was develop the theories and formula behind it."

Breda frowned. "Meaning the Colonel had to work that out himself?"

Nodding furiously, Fuery leaned closer. "Think about it – the Lieutenant's tattoo looks like a bunch of alchemy, right? What if that tattoo _is_ the formula for Flame Alchemy? Do you realize what that means?"

Havoc's morning cigarette tilted upward in his mouth as he grinned in realization. "It means the Colonel has seen the one thing that over half the guys on base fantasize about . . . . He's seen Lieutenant Hawkeye naked."

"Damn straight, I have." Four heads whipped around as the man in question walked past, just within hearing range, wearing a knowing smirk. "And if you _ever_ repeat that to anybody, you'll all be little piles of ash before you can even blink."


	4. The Morning After

_A/N: I personally think that funniest part of this whole story is that Hughes is going to have a field day teasing Roy._

* * *

**The Morning After**

Feet skidding on the floor, Riza Hawkeye was propelled bodily through the door, her arms held fast in the grip of her two companions. "Sirs, I really don't think that this a good —"

"Forget it, Hawkeye, you need to loosen up!" Freeing one hand from her arm, Maes Hughes tugged at the collar of her jacket. "Come on, take your coat off. Stay awhile."

Seconds later, her jacket hanging on a hook by the door, she was being forced into a seat at the bar. "Bartender, you know what to do," Roy smirked, dropping onto the stool beside hers. He received a languid wave in acknowledgement. "Riza, you've been tense all week, and it's finally Friday night. There's nothing wrong with two friends buying you a drink to help you unwind."

"Besides, you're not leaving here until we see you smile," Hughes said, clapping her on the shoulder. "A pretty girl like you _has_ to smile every so often. Otherwise, you scare all the boys away."

"Hey!" Roy scowled at his best friend. "If she's so scary when she doesn't smile, then how come I stick around?"

"Who knows? You're just crazy."

With a quiet sigh, Riza propped one elbow on the bar, using her hand to support her chin, and resigned herself to listening to her superiors' bickering. This was going to be a long evening.

* * *

He woke gradually, aware of the room's brightness before he even opened his eyes. Roy immediately regretted doing so, as morning sunlight stabbed at his vision, igniting the headache that had been lurking in his brain. Rolling over, he buried his face in the pillow and waited for the pounding to subside.

From the kitchen came a soft 'clink;' he paused for a moment, then carefully lifted his head, listening hard. The sound repeated itself, and he tensed. Someone was in his apartment.

Rising quietly, the headache fading into the background, he slipped toward the dividing wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of his place. There were soft footsteps as someone moved about, and the smell of coffee drifted toward him. Roy frowned; what kind of burglar broke in during broad daylight, then proceeded to make coffee?

"Hughes?" he said, stepping around the corner . . . .

To the sight of a young woman leaning against the counter, her nose buried inside a coffee mug. Riza glanced his way, the dark circles under her eyes showing she was just as hungover as he was.

"Good morning, sir," she said, lowering the mug, cradling it in both hands.

He stared at her — she wore her uniform pants, as she had the night before, but the shirt was definitely one of his. ". . . . Morning . . . ."

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "You don't remember why I'm here, do you, sir."

". . . Can't say I —" Abruptly, somewhere deep in his alcohol-fogged brain, it clicked. His eyes widened as he stared at her, involuntarily scanning her from head to toe and back again. "Oh . . . ."

"Oh," she agreed, looking at him with a small smirk. "You see now what happens when you drink too much, Major? Specifically, what happens when you drink too much around me?"

He was across the distance in two strides, his hands on her shoulders. "Riza, I'm so sorry. This shouldn't have happened, I've put you in a terrible position . . . . But as long as Hughes keeps his mouth shut, and only you and I know about it, then it'll be okay. We can put it behind us." He shrugged uncomfortably. "To tell you the truth, I don't remember any of it, so that makes any fraternization charges a little shaky, which can only help —"

"Wait a minute." She lifted one hand to stop the waterfall of words currently pouring out of his mouth. "Sir, am I to take it that you think that, in a fit of inebriated loose morality, I slept with you?"

Roy blinked. Why was she using words like 'inebriated' right now? ". . . . Are you saying you didn't?"

"I can assure you, my pants stayed firmly on my body," Riza answered dryly. "I'm here because I escorted you home last night. Given that my apartment is halfway across the city, and I didn't want to walk there alone at two in the morning, I stayed here."

"Where did you sleep?"

"You fell asleep curled up; that left some space for me on the end of the couch," she said, taking another sip of coffee. "Though I did get one or two kicks to the hip during the night."

He winced, belatedly dropping his hands back to his sides. "Sorry. And what about the shirt?"

"I can wear the same pants for two days in a row without a problem; a shirt, however, is a different story." She shrugged. "You were still asleep when I put my shirt in the wash; I only meant to borrow it until mine is clean and dry. I'm sorry; if you had been awake, I would have asked permission."

"It's okay." Reaching past her, he picked up the second mug of coffee sitting on the counter. "Why are you being so . . . uptight? We're not at the office; you don't have to call me 'sir,' or 'Major.' You know my name, so use it."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Roy. This is just . . . weird." The corner of her mouth twitched again, this time with a touch of visible embarrassment. "I've never woken up in a man's apartment after a night of drinking. I'm not sure how to handle this."

"Best advice I can give you — let it slide. We both know what happened now; we know there's no changing it, and we know we didn't do anything wrong." He took a swallow of hot coffee, feeling the headache starting to make itself felt again. "The only thing left to do now is nurse our hangovers and carry on."

"I suppose you're right." She glanced at the clock, then set her mug aside and slipped past him toward the door. "My shirt should be just about clean. I'll be back in a minute."

"Sure." He paused, looking into his own mug. "Riza? What did you mean, this is what happens when I go drinking around you in particular?"

She paused with her hand on the doorframe, and looked back at him. "I brought you back here last night because I knew you wouldn't make it on your own," she said quietly, finally offering a tiny, but genuine, smile. "I don't know why, but I worry about you, Roy. I worry a lot."

* * *

_Go on, click that review button. Acknowledge that you just fulfilled your guilty pleasure and read Royza fanfiction. :3_


	5. Tucked In

_A/N: Awwwwww, look at it! It's so cute! Go read it, and try to tell me your heart doesn't melt just a little. _

* * *

**Tucked In**

He didn't understand how she could function, if she was this cold all the time. Against him now, the only heat seemed to come from her torso. Her nose, her fingertips, her toes . . . they were all cold.

"Seriously, I think there's something wrong with you," he growled, wrapping one hand around hers in effort to warm her fingers. "Some sort of thermo-distribution deficiency . . . ."

"Ssssssshhhh . . . ." Eyes closed, Riza frowned. "The three-dollar words are very nice, but we both need to sleep. You have a conference with the Finance and Procurement departments tomorrow, and we both need to be on our toes, or they'll cut the budget again."

He smirked, brushing his nose against her forehead. "Kind of hard to sleep when there's a human icicle snuggled up against me."

"Sorry." Disentangling herself from him, she rolled over to face the wall. "There. Now go to sleep."

He tried. He really did. But the sudden loss of another body curled together with his resulted in a slow evaporation of warmth he hadn't realized was there. After fifteen minutes, when Riza's breathing announced that she was asleep, Roy's eyes opened, staring up at the blank ceiling of her apartment.

They always used her place for these little 'sleepovers;' out of the two of them, she was the only one that possessed an actual bed. She'd never directly said so, but he suspected that if she slept on a couch, as he did, she would have any multitude of back problems. He rarely did, but then again, his back wasn't covered in scars and a tattoo.

Abruptly, a pair of alertly pointed ears, followed by a set of black eyes, appeared over the edge of the bed. Roy smiled, and patted the mattress by his knees in invitation.

Hayate's only response was to perch his front paws on the bedside, looking over Roy's shoulder at his mistress. Normally, he would sleep at her feet, but with the addition of another human to the bed, he waited for permission before jumping up with them. Reaching out, Roy scratched behind the dog's ears.

"Don't worry, boy, she's not mad. Just tired."

The Shiba Inu's eyes twitched from his mistress to the man scratching his head . . . back to Riza . . . back to Roy. Finally, his head tilted to one side, regarding him almost curiously.

Roy let his hand drop back to the blankets, staring at the dog. In five little movements, he'd said an entire sentence. _If she's not mad, then why aren't you all snuggled up?_ Slowly, he grinned.

"Hayate, you're a better matchmaker than Grumman, you know that?" he muttered.

Rolling over, he slipped an arm around Riza's waist, pressing gently against her back. She shifted slightly, sighing quietly in her sleep as her hand covered his. Roy closed his eyes and breathed deep, drinking in the smell of her, and letting it help him start to drift off. He always slept better holding her.

Dropping his front paws back to the floor, Hayate turned twice on the spot, and settled down. With the humans asleep, it was his turn. His eyes closed, his mouth set in a satisfied doggy smirk.


	6. Sins of the Husband

_A/N: I actually wrote this before watching Episode 37 of Brotherhood. Then, when I did, all I could think was '. . . called it.'_

**Sins of the Husband**

If she hadn't been so distracted by her tension at being summoned to the Führer's residence this late at night, Riza was certain that the level of awkwardness in the room would have worn away at even her usual calm. She was seated across a low coffee table from Mrs. Bradley, each of them holding a delicate cup of tea.

"I apologize if you were dragged away from anything," the older woman said at last, breaking the silence. She smiled. "My husband can be particularly stubborn where work is involved."

"That's all right." Giving a return smile that she didn't feel, Riza took a sip of her tea. "I've had lots of practice with working at odd hours."

"Ah, that's right . . . ." Taking a sip from her own cup, Mrs. Bradley tilted her head to one side in query. "Before, you were the personal adjutant to . . . I believe my husband said Colonel Mustang?" She smiled again, encouragingly this time. "He must have seen something special in you, to transfer you to himself."

Looking down, ostensibly out of modesty, Riza made sure to keep her bitterness out of her voice and expression. "Thank you. I'm flattered you think so." _If only you knew that the only things your husband sees in me is a serious threat to his power, and a way to keep Roy in line._

Silence held again for a brief moment before Mrs. Bradley leaned forward, setting her teacup on the low table between them. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "some women might disagree, but I think it's a good thing for my husband to have a female secretary. That other man, Storch . . . he always seemed so . . . shifty."

Riza looked up in mild surprise to find the older woman sitting back, relaxed in her seat, her lips pursed. "I don't mean to talk out of turn," she continued, "but he always looked as though he were up to something. You, on the other hand, you seem quite serious, but otherwise a perfectly nice, polite young woman."

". . . Thank you," was all Riza could think of to say; her mind was busy processing a new realization. Yes, this woman was married to one of the most ruthless and dangerous men in the country, yet she was so clueless about it that she considered everything to be fine. The saying was that 'the sins of the father should not be visited upon the son,' but Riza wondered if they could be held separate from the spouse as well. Especially a spouse who had no knowledge of what her husband really was.

Mrs. Bradley was smiling again. "You must think me terribly nosy, but I can't help but wonder why a pretty girl like you would join something so male-dominated as the military."

Despite herself, Riza gave a genuine smile. "Believe me, ma'am, you're not the first person to wonder about that. The simplest answer I can give you is that I wanted to do my part to keep Amestris as safe as possible. If not for my generation, then perhaps the next one, and the one after, as far along as it will go."

"That's a beautiful dream." The other's eyes went to the fireplace mantle, and the smiling photograph of a young boy in a frame there. "I would love for my son to grow up in a world where there's only peace."

"Wouldn't we all," Riza murmured.

The door on the far side of the room opened, Führer Bradley stepping inside. The smile on his face sent a shiver of apprehension down Riza's spine; she set her cup and saucer on the coffee table so that the rattle wouldn't give her fear away. "Ah, there you are. Sorry to keep you waiting. Did you two have a nice chat?"

Mrs. Bradley beamed. "She's a lovely girl. I think you chose well, dear."

That single green eye turned Riza's way; she forced herself to meet his gaze, suspecting that his wife wouldn't see the intense dislike behind it. "Yes," he said quietly. "I suppose I have."


	7. Everything in Context

_A/N: Leave it to a dirty mind to turn something innocent into something . . . less than innocent. Havoc, you continue to be my go-to character for situations like this. _

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Everything in Context**

"_Fuery? Do you copy?_"

Adjusting the headset clamped to his ears with one hand, the bespectacled young man reached out with the other to adjust a dial on the front of the receiver in front of him. "Yes, ma'am. Loud and clear."

"_All right. We're in position; we'll get the transmitter in place._" A click sounded as Hawkeye terminated her end of the connection.

The 'position' was the back terrace of a local shipping merchant's house on the wealthier side of Central City. While he maintained a well-constructed façade of honest trade, there were several strong indications that all was not as it appeared. Hence, under cover of darkness, Colonel Mustang and his ever-present lieutenant had infiltrated his back yard to install a hidden radio transmitter. The crooked merchant favoured doing business on the patio of his home, and the military held hopes of getting audio evidence of any dirty deals.

Behind Fuery, across the room, the office door opened to admit Havoc and Breda. Both carried cups of coffee designed to keep them awake for the next few late-night hours.

"Did they check in yet?" Havoc yawned, leaning against the table full of radio equipment.

"Just now." Sitting back in his chair, Fuery folded his arms. "It should only take about five minutes to get the transmitter hidden, and then they'll have fifteen minutes to get out of the area. According to Sterns's assistant, he has an appointment at ten-thirty tonight; nothing good can be happening at that hour."

There was a sudden click from the receiver, and Hawkeye's voice cut in in the middle of a sentence "-_little more careful?_"

"**I'm trying, but this isn't as easy as it looks.**" The Colonel's voice was quieter, being further away from the mic, but still audible.

"_Just hold still._"

Before Fuery could speak up and inform his superiors their connection had been re-established, Havoc reached over and hit the 'mute' switch. "Wha — sir, their radio needs to be off. If they get caught, there has to be plausible deniability between them and us, so we don't get caught up in it too."

The sandy-blond man grinned. "Aw, come on: they're too good to get caught. Besides, the way they're talking, it sounds like they're about to have one of their little spats. I don't want to miss out on that."

". . . You actually like it when that happens?"

Breda settled into a chair, coffee already half-gone. "What? It's fun to watch Lieutenant Hawkeye back the boss into a corner he can't talk his way out of."

"**Can you reach?**"

"_A little more . . . all right._"

"**Make it fast. I don't want to have to explain what we're doing.**"

"_I'm going as quickly as I can. Just be patient._" Silence held for a moment, except for a few brushes of movement; no doubt Hawkeye working to install the transmitter in their chosen location. "_It's not staying in place._"

"**What? Why not?**"

"_It's at the wrong angle. It needs to be tilted up more, but there's no way to keep it like that._"

Roy groaned in irritation. "**You've got to be kidding me.**"

"_I never kid around when it comes to things like this._" Another pause. "_Higher . . . higher . . . . A little to the left . . . . There._"

Snickering to himself, Breda shook his head. "This is just too weird. Don't they realize what this sounds like to someone listening in?"

"They don't even know their end got re-connected, remember?" Havoc grinned as he propped one elbow on the edge of the switchboard, covering his mouth as he tried to hold the laughter in. "Oh man . . . . It really sounds like they're . . . you know . . . ."

"**. . . . Like we're what, Havoc?**" Dead silence fell, the three eavesdroppers staring in fear at the speaker the quietly dangerous voice had issued from. "**Go ahead. What were you going to say?**"

"Nothing," Havoc said, a little too quickly. "Not a damn thing."

"_Then we'll talk about this when we get back,_" Hawkeye interjected calmly. Too calmly. "_Which should be in about ten minutes. The transmitter is in place. Wait for us at the safehouse._"

Slouching in his seat, the sandy-blond man said, "Yes, ma'am." Waiting until the disconnecting click was heard, he groaned. "I'm a dead man."

Breda leaned forward to look at the switchboard. "Fuery, I thought our end was on mute."

"It was!" The young man winced. "When Havoc put his arm on the board, he must have bumped the switch by mistake and the sound got turned back on." He got to his feet. "Good luck, sir."

Breda waved, following Fuery toward the door. "Nice knowing you, man. See you later."

* * *

_Don't get me wrong; I love Havoc dearly . . . and that's why I like picking on him. Don't forget to review!_


	8. Blame it On the Dress

_A/N: Why do they **always** get interrupted?_

* * *

**Blame it On the Dress**

The restaurant was one of the most difficult to get reservations to, which went along with the fact that it was the highest-rated establishment in Central. The only reason a table had opened up for the four of them was that Maes had done some very skilled investigating for the owner as military and civilian lifestyles clashed, and some sort of off-the-books reward had been in order.

Roy sat across from his rival-turned-best-friend, thankful for the high pile carpet to dampen the sound of his nervously tapping foot. He was certain that Hughes was setting he and Riza up, and in a city crawling with with soldiers, it was exceedingly risky.

"What happened that the two of you wound up in separate hotels?" Gracia asked curiously. "Doesn't she need to be closer to be a bodyguard?"

"Normally, we're able to swing an adjoining room," he answered, shaking his head. "But this time, the accommodation arrangements got left to some rookie administration clerk that messed up somewhere along the line. We didn't find out there'd been a mix-up until we arrived in the city, and by then, it was too late."

"I told you that you could stay with us," Maes said, the mock scolding clear in his tone. "But did you listen? Noooooooooo, Roy knows everything." Unable to keep a straight face, he broke into a grin at the glare his friend shot him.

"You can't fit two extra adults in your place for a week," Roy countered. "Besides, you'd drive me crazy."

For a brief second, the other man's eyes flicked to the side, looking past the dark-haired alchemist's shoulder, before his grin widened and he lowered his voice. "Maybe. But not as much as that pretty girl walking your way."

Turning to see what Maes was staring at, Roy froze, eyes riveted to the woman weaving her way through the tables toward theirs. Her hair was down, pulled back along the sides and held by a pair of subtly glinting barrettes. Her dress was a dusty red, with gold accents along the left side. It was in the Xingese style, with a high neck, and cap sleeves, divided partway up the skirt on the outside of the leg. A pale gold pashmina around her shoulders made sure that no tiny corner of her tattoo would accidentally be shown.

Riza's gaze found his, and he stood automatically as she smiled. "You haven't been waiting long, have you?" she asked, eyes going to Gracia, then Maes. "The police were diverting traffic around an accident on Second Street, so it slowed me down a little."

"No; they were just able to seat us early is all." Gracia got to her feet, stepping around the end of the table to exchange a brief hug with the blonde Lieutenant. "We're just glad you and Roy were able to make it here."

She resumed her seat, Riza taking hers across the table as Roy held the chair out for her. She glanced briefly at him over her shoulder, giving him a small smile, before he settled down beside her trying hard to ignore the sly grin on Maes' face, and the way his eyes kept flicking between the two of them.

"So," he commented, trying to divert the attention away from himself and his Lieutenant. "If I'm not mistaken, this is the first time you two have been out since Elicia was born. You sure know how to celebrate."

"Picture time!" Hughes had his wallet open on the table faster than anyone could protest. Inside was a picture of a baby girl, only a few months old, green eyes wide as she stared at the camera.

Riza smiled, speeding Roy's pulse up again. "She's beautiful. And she looks just like her mother."

"Of course she's beautiful!" Slipping the wallet back into his pocket, Maes shrugged. "Though if she looked more like me, she'd be even more good-looking." He missed seeing Gracia roll her eyes skyward with a smile. "We were thinking of going out East for a vacation some time soon, so that you two could meet her, but you got to Central before we could." He mock-scowled at Roy. "Throw my plans for a loop again, why don't you. Thanks."

"Considering some of your plans are outright insane?" the other smirked. "You're welcome."

* * *

"You don't have to walk me back," she said as they moved along the nighttime streets. Early summer in Central left the night air warm enough to go without a jacket even at this hour. No one else was about; just the two of them.

"Yeah, I know." Hands in his pockets, Roy was careful not to look at her directly; he was sure that if he did, the same thing that had been happening to him all night would start again. Losing the power of speech right now would only lead to the world's most awkward silence. "But this is Central, not East City; there's a few more lowlifes around here than back home, and I just want to make sure you get there safe."

"That takes care of me," she mused, and he could hear the humour in her voice. "Who's going to take care of you, then? I thought that was my job."

He shrugged. "I have my gloves. I only brought them because I didn't figure you'd be using a gun as an accessory." When she didn't answer, he glanced sideways to find her fighting back a smirk. ". . . How the hell are you hiding a gun on yourself right now?"

"Very carefully," she answered, giving up the battle against her amusement.

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Riza studied her surroundings, as was her usual habit as a bodyguard; as was his habit, Roy surreptitiously studied her. "I don't think I've seen you in that dress before," he commented. "Is it new?"

She looked down at herself with a non-plussed expression. "When you go dress shopping with Rebecca Catalina, she makes absolutely sure you don't leave empty-handed," she murmured. "It was her choice, and I kind of like it . . . but I went along with it mostly just to shut her up."

Roy laughed, half to himself. "She's got good taste. I think you look —" He stopped himself, both verbally and physically. Riza took another two steps before doing the same, turning back to look at him in concern. Her gaze met his, and the word on the tip of his tongue disappeared into thin air.

". . . Roy? Are you all right?"

All the years of being so careful to avoid doing anything that even resembled fraternization were screaming at him not to say the word, if he could remember it. Just the way she said his name was making his head spin. Something deep in his chest wanted her to say it again, was wishing desperately that she would.

He watched as her expression became highly alert, those brown eyes watching him in concern. "You're starting to get me worried," she said quietly, retracing the last couple steps toward him. "What's wrong?"

Still speechless, he shook his head, and forced himself into motion again. Riza fell in beside him, still watchful, only now with suspicion. Her hotel was ahead on the left, golden light spilling from the lobby out onto the dark street.

I'll walk up with her, Roy decided firmly. I can't guarantee we're alone out here, but once we're inside . . . .

It was the most agonizingly long and silent walk of his life. No longer than three minutes, but it was beginning to feel like fifteen by the time they arrived outside the door to her room. Riza looked up as she fit the key into the lock. "Did you want to come in and make sure I brush my teeth properly?" she asked sarcastically.

"Sure." He caught the flash of an exasperated smile before she opened the door and stepped through. Following her in, he shut the wooden panel, watching as she crossed to turn on the lights beside the bed.

"Are you ready to talk about what happened outside?" she asked, over her shoulder. Pulling off the pashmina, she began folding it neatly. "I assume you didn't want to risk unfriendly ears listening in."

Roy's stomach flipped. ". . . . I'll just come right out and say it," he said, hands slipping into his pockets again as he took a few steps forward. "You look . . . there's no other word for it. You look beautiful like that." He watched as her head whipped around to look at him, the pashmina forgotten in her hands. "I . . . didn't want to say anything outside . . . like you said, in case someone was around. Not that any of the soldiers here would recognize anyone from out East, but just in case —"

"It's all right. I understand." She set the gold fabric down on the bed, turning fully to face him with a small smile. "It's nice of you to say so. Thank you."

Roy took another step forward. "It's not just being nice, it's . . . ." He hesitated, realizing that she might not want this to spill over into fraternization any more than it already had. ". . . . Permission to speak freely?"

She lifted one eyebrow, curious at the question — a superior officer always had the right to speak freely — but as well as he knew her, Roy knew she understood his reason for asking. ". . . Go ahead."

"It's not just being nice," he said again. "It's being truthful. You walked in the room tonight, and I didn't see First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, bodyguard and adjutant. I saw you. You were yourself for the first time in a while; I've seen you smile more times tonight than in the last year. And that's one of the prettiest things I've seen in the whole damn world."

The same smile spread slowly across her face as she folded her arms. "Well . . . . It's been a while since I heard you talk like that."

The weight of what he'd wanted to say finally off his shoulders, Roy shrugged. "It's like riding a bicycle. You never really forget how. How did I do?"

This time, it was Riza that stepped forward, further closing the gap between them. "I think you did very well, all things considered." Her eyes flicked down, then up in a once-over. "I have to say, you really don't look so bad yourself. It's a good change, to see you in something other than a uniform."

Roy inched forward another step. "If we were in uniform," he said quietly, "we wouldn't be standing this close. Funny what a change of clothes can do."

"And what exactly," she said softly, "are you hoping will happen before the clothes we wear dictate how we act?"

He smiled as she closed the distance by stepping into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. "I think you know what I'm hoping for," he murmured. "But I'll hold off if you want me to."

Riza was quiet for a moment. "You're hoping for an invitation to spend the night," she said, and he could hear her smile. "It would mean I don't have to worry that you got to your hotel all right."

". . . . That reminds me . . . ." Leaning back to look at her, Roy lifted an eyebrow. "I want to know where you're hiding a gun under a dress like that."

Rolling her eyes with a smile, Riza took a step back. Pushing the divide in her skirt to one side, she unfastened a leg holster from the opposite side, just above her knee. Standing straight, she held it up for inspection, the semi-automatic nestled among the leather clearly visible. "Does that answer your question?"

Roy grinned, moving forward to slip his arms around her waist. "Sometimes I forget just how dangerous a woman you are . . . ."

"Maybe . . . but never a danger to you." She gently tossed the holster onto the bed, turning back just in time to meet his kiss lips-first. "If you're going to — come in for a visit," Riza said, speaking between breaths. "You could at least — take your coat off — stay a while."

"Thought you'd never ask."

He worked his arms out of the sleeves, lips never leaving hers, and let the dark fabric drop to the floor. Waiting just long enough for her to slip her feet out of her shoes, he backed her slowly toward the bed; her one-handed grip on his tie made sure he followed her down.

"If I didn't think you looked so good in a dress like this," he said, grinning, "I'd put a moratorium on you wearing them."

Riza smirked. "In the interest of protecting what remains of your sanity?"

"I'm perfectly sane, thank you." The grin widened into something dangerously confident as he nuzzled against the side of her neck. "It's in the interest of your protection. If I keep seeing you looking like this, I can't be held responsible for my actions." She laughed — nothing more than a quiet chuckle at the back of her throat — and he froze. ". . . Damn, I love that sound."

There was time for two kisses to the soft skin of her neck before the door was kicked in. Heavy booted footsteps rushed through the door along with the sound of gun safeties being taken off . . . and then silence.

". . . I realize this is a bad time, Colonel, but if you'd both be so kind as to put your hands up," a voice said, trying hard to cover the tone of someone taken aback.

Mentally cursing a blue streak, Roy rolled to one side and sat up, scowling at the first man he spotted with a gun pointed his way. "What? You've never gotten drunk and fallen over on someone before?" he snapped, taking care to slur his words convincingly. He looked back to Riza. "You okay?"

The man who'd spoken, who was the only one without a weapon, glared. "Your conversation, the one that determines whether you live or die, is with me, Colonel."

That one look at her had been enough; she had her usual mask back in place, and she had a plan. She just needed his input to make it work. And so he would. "Okay, okay." Roy shot another glance at the quartet of guns pointed in his direction. "But if we're going to talk, you tell your boys to put their toys away, all right?"

Smiling tightly, the man shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm not an idiot."

"My gloves are in my coat, my coat is on the floor, and I am freaking s***faced right now." He shrugged eloquently. "Couldn't shoot straight if I wanted to. But you said you wanted my hands up, right?" Getting to his feet, listing slightly to one side, he laced his fingers together on top of his head. "There. See? Now put 'em away."

With an impatient gesture, the man gestured his thugs to stand down; they did so, putting the safeties back on. "What about the girl? What's her purpose here?"

"Her?" Roy shrugged again. "She works in the club downstairs. When the bar cut me off, the manager sent her up here with me to make sure I made it." He leaned a little too far to the right, taking two staggering steps in that direction, putting him now on Riza's right side. "Look, fellas, I'm really not sure I ought to go anywhere right now. Can you maybe come back tomorrow?"

"No," was the snappish answer.

"Too bad." Dropping the slur, Roy smirked. "That was your last chance."

Riza's hand had started inching toward the gun she'd set aside the moment he stepped between it and the gunners' line of fire. Now she drew it, beginning to fire as Roy dropped into a crouch. Five shots, one to the shoulder of each gunman and their spokesman, dropping all of them to the floor in pain.

Rising fluidly, she assumed a stable firing stance. "If any of you reaches for any sort of weapon, my next shots won't be aimed for non-vital areas. Understood?" When no answer except one or two groans came, she spoke over her shoulder to Roy. "Colonel, if you'd be so kind as to call hotel security?"

* * *

They watched the doors of the truck close on the spokesman of the attack group, before the engine started and the vehicle pulled ponderously away from the curb.

"We were lucky," Riza murmured. She'd changed into casual clothing since the attack, her hair still down. "They're affiliated with a group that's against the military, so there's very little chance of them wanting to report what they saw."

Roy shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. "Even if they did, it would be the word of criminals against that of a high-ranking military officer. With no concrete evidence, it's all hearsay; no real basis for court-martial. We're in the clear."

"Good." She cast him a sidelong glance, smiling in dry humour. "I'm not sure I should let you stay by yourself tonight, if that's the kind of company that finds you. It would be safer if you had a bodyguard present."

He smirked. "Are you volunteering for the position?"

"Of course. And you should probably stay here; they'll be checking military-held hotels with a reservation under your name. We can pick up your things in the morning." Brown eyes flicked briefly around the street, seeing no one else within earshot; nevertheless, her voice grew quieter. "Besides; I believe you were just starting in on a list of things you like about me."

* * *

_. . . . Sooooo? Reviews, and you get virtual cake. :3_


	9. Angry Tears

_A/N: This is actually based on a true story; I work at a campground, and every so often you get that one customer that just will not be happy unless they can yell at someone. Bonus points if you can find an actual quote from the manga in here!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Angry Tears**

The room was quiet, a perfect place to study . . . or catch a nap, as was the case with him. Stretched out on the squashy, dark green couch, a textbook dropped over his face, Roy was just drifting off when a sharp _bzzz!_ split the air. He jumped at the sudden noise, pulling the book from his face to glare at the open doorway from the lounge into the store. That buzzer signalled that someone had entered.

Lying back to resume his interrupted rest, he sighed. Accompanying Riza to her job at the local hotel wasn't the most entertaining thing in the world, but it was an excuse to get out of the house, and when she was working until after dark like tonight, he felt better knowing she would get home safe in his company. Interruptions like that door buzzer would just have to be tolerated.

"I don't care!" an angry voice sounded from the store; a man's, deep and demanding. "I want to speak to the groundskeepers, right now!"

There was the quiet murmur of Riza's voice, saying something in return, too quietly for Roy to catch. Nap forgotten, he sat up just as she came through the door into the lounge with a stiff back, and too-calm-to-be-real expression. Her hands, he noticed, curled into fists as soon as she was out of her irate customer's sight.

"Everything okay?"

"Just fine." Her tone was clipped, not out of anger, but in a 'don't bother me right now' sort of way. She was a girl on a mission, and Roy knew full well not to mess with her once she got that way. Pulling open the door to the employee break room, she disappeared inside.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Roy got to his feet, sauntering casually toward the store. Flipping open his book, he came through the door like nothing was wrong, glancing up idly at the others present. A small, thin man with glasses stood near the register, eyeing the store's other occupants warily: a clearly irritated woman with pulled-back dark blonde hair, and a man who towered at least half again Roy's height, with a bulk that seemed half-fat, half-muscle. Clearly, he was the one who had an issue with the groundskeepers.

There were only two aisles in the store; Roy turned down one without a word, occupying himself with studying the merchandise there. The tiny sundries shop sold any number of things one might forget to bring with them in their travels: razors, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and the like. There was also a small but highly diverse snack section, in case anyone passing through had the munchies at some point during their stay.

Within a minute, Riza came back through the door, moving around behind the counter again. Roy stayed out of sight as she took up her usual position, her back to him, and addressed the angry couple. "I've spoken to the groundskeeper you have an issue with, and —"

"Well, where is he?" the large man demanded, dark eyes glaring at the young woman before him. "Is he coming out here, or what?"

"At the moment, I'm going to call the hotel manager, and have him come down to mediate the discussion." Roy had to give her credit; she was calm and polite, though she didn't have much reason to be. "When he arrives, he'll take you back to speak with the groundsman. One moment."

Picking up a handheld radio, she brought it to her mouth. "Robert, come in, please." A handful of seconds went by before she tried again, still with no answer.

Finally the radio crackled to life. "Riza, it's Marcus. You're trying to find Robert for something?" Roy rolled the name over in his mind for a moment before remembering that Marcus was the valet out front.

"I have a customer at the store that would like to speak with him." Riza was watching out the large bay window behind her counter, no doubt in eye contact with Marcus across the wide courtyard of the hotel. "If you see him around, could you send him over to me, please?"

"Sure thing. Everything copacetic over there?"

"It will be," she said, shortly. Setting the radio down, she reached for the telephone.

"Well?" The large man demanded. Roy couldn't help but let his eyes narrow a little. How dare he get so impatient with Riza; she was doing her best to help him, couldn't he see that?

"It doesn't appear as though the manager has his radio with him; I'll try him in his suite, and see what happens," she explained, picking up the receiver. "If you could wait by the door, so that others can come and go, please?" She dialled, not watching as the man and his . . . wife? . . . stepped to one side as requested.

Riza was still for several long seconds, listening, before finally hanging up without saying a word. She paused for another moment, her posture telling Roy that she was thinking hard. Finally, she turned toward her burly customer, and he saw the side of her face.

His chest seemed to constrict in worry. Her face was set in a perfect deadpan, neither polite nor impolite, sympathetic or hostile. She only ever put that face on when she knew there would be trouble. "Sir, I can't seem to get hold of my manager. If you like, you can tell me your side of the story, and I'll have the manager come to you as soon as he's available."

Roy took the opportunity to slip out of the room, though he only stood to one side of the door. The large man was far from calmed down, even in the amount of time he'd been left to his devices. "My boy was playing with some other kids in the courtyard, decided it'd be fun to climb a tree. There's nothing saying he can't do that, but the groundsman gave him trouble for it anyway! He singled my boy out unfairly, not any of the other kids!" There was a huff. "I don't expect you to understand, but you will when you have kids of your own, little girl —"

He nearly choked. Riza? With kids? Somehow, that image didn't fit, but the man was still ranting. "I want that man talked to, and I want some kind of restitution for all my trouble! I don't care whether he loses pay, or whether I get the rest of my stay for free, or what! I paid good money to come here, and if you people can't make it the best damn stay I've ever had then —"

"Sir, I don't appreciate —"

"Don't speak," the man snapped. "I'm the one speaking here!"

Riza's voice rose in volume just slightly, still glacially calm. "I don't appreciate your tone," she said firmly. "If you'll tell me your room number, I'll have the manager come to see you as soon as he gets in. Until then, I have to ask you to leave."

"Fine. Room forty. Make sure he gets the message." The phone rang just as heavy steps went out the main door; there was a click as Riza picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" A pause. "Yes, Marcus, that's him leaving. Do you mind if I call you back? I still have work I need to take care of . . . . All right. Thank you." Another click as she set the receiver down, and then she was apologizing to the reedy man who'd no doubt witnessed the entire incident first-hand.

Roy shook his head. Riza often came home with a story about an unhappy customer, but he'd never imagined it could get this bad. She had courage, he had to admit; someone of her slight stature going up against a hulk like what's-his-face . . . . He briefly registered the sound of someone else leaving, and then footsteps moving into the back storeroom.

Riza was alone now; he glanced briefly back at the couch, wondering whether or not she would get after him for going to check on her . . . . Ultimately, he decided, making sure she was all right trumped any possibility of her skeptical looks and comments about him being a worrywart.

Re-entering the store, he slipped almost silently across to the door into the back, peering around the edge . . . and froze. She was busily organizing the shelves, as a good employee would, but the telltale tracks of moisture down her face set his blood on fire. He stepped inside, not bothering with a 'hello.'

"What did he do?" he demanded, dark eyes locked on the blonde-haired form that whirled to face him. "I swear, if he touched you —"

"He didn't!" Riza's voice cracked, just a little; she swallowed hard, then tried again. "I'm okay, just . . . . I'm just as angry as you are, believe me."

Roy frowned. ". . . So you're crying?"

Those whisky-brown eyes rolled in exasperation. "Sometimes, if I get mad enough about something, I cry, okay? It just happens. Right now, I'm mad that that idiot had the gall to come in and accuse Johnathan of something so stupid, and take it out on me when he couldn't yell at the person he wanted! I thought that by getting him to talk, he'd calm down, but it only made it worse and —"

"Sshhhhhh. Settle down." Setting his book on the shelf, Roy folded his arms around her in a hug. "It's over now," he said quietly into the short strands of her hair. "He won't be coming back any time soon. You just have to get hold of your boss and send him to deal with it. It's okay. Some people just don't appreciate good customer service."

"Tell me about it." She was quiet for a moment, pressing close against him, just grateful for a human presence that was comforting and familiar. Finally, she murmured, "I saw you in there when it all started. Where did you disappear to? Don't tell me you watched that whole scene?"

Roy winced. "I was right outside the door, just in case you needed me. I didn't think you would, not with that look on your face." He smiled. "If that guy had come over the counter at you, I think you would've decked him in one hit."

Her shoulders shook with a small laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." She was silent for another moment. "And . . . thanks for this."

"Anytime."

"Riza?" A new voice called from out in the store; male, older, and obviously concerned. "Riza, where are you?"

She pushed away, wiping hurriedly at her eyes. "That's Robert. I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting." He watched her leave, his heart swelling in pride. The girl might be small, but she was a right firecracker when she wanted to be. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

_Scroll down, just a little farther. See that review box? Write something nice in there, and send it to me. You know I love to hear from you. _


	10. Aware

_A/N: I had a couple people say they would like more Royza sexytimes . . . so I said, "Why not?" Enjoy it while it lasts, my lovelies._

I do not own FMA.

* * *

**Aware**

She didn't know exactly when she'd started being able to predict his almost every move. Now, she knew his every little quirk and habit: she knew how he took his coffee, when he was more likely to do his work without complaint, or when he was likely to fall asleep face-down on top of it. She could tell at a glance if he'd been spending late nights going over his research notes, or if something was bothering him. She knew how to coax — occasionally con — him into talking about things he would otherwise keep bottled up, and she knew the fastest ways to calm him down when his hot-headed streak kicked in.

Yes, Riza was very aware of just how well she knew Roy Mustang.

Briggs would see a heat wave before she would admit it, but deep inside, Riza took great pride in her title. Not the title of First Lieutenant, the other one: bodyguard-slash-adjutant. It meant that she was the one person Roy trusted to be closer than all the others. Precious few could legitimately say they were close to him, and out of those, she was the only one he had tasked with watching his back.

Over the years, she had developed an unconscious habit of consistently checking where he was relative to her own position. Wherever he was, as long as she was in the same room, she knew exactly where to look for him. She knew his walk, the sound of his footsteps; if he came up behind her, she could always tell it was him without turning around.

And in cases such as this, squeezed into an elevator with the rest of 'the team' with Fuery pushed back-to-back against her and Roy's face no more than six inches from hers, she was all too aware of him.

He had told her once, in a fit of slightly drunken honesty, that she had a scent about her that drove him crazy. Coffee, vanilla, and brown sugar, he'd said, with that mischievous smirk on his face. What Riza hadn't told him was that every time she walked across the office to his desk, either waking him up or to get his signature on a piece of paperwork, his scent — that mix of soap, ink-covered paper, clean linen, and something unidentifiable that made her heart speed up and it was all _him_ — was the first thing she noticed.

Standing this close, she was concentrating on keeping her heart rate steady. She stared at one of the stars on his epaulets, focussing on that and not the leg pressed against hers, not the accidental brush of his foot, not the mouth that was practically at eye level and if she reached just a little —

_No_. Mentally shaking herself, Riza brought her thoughts back from their tangent. This was not the time nor the place to be having such thoughts; by military regulations, he wasn't even a person she should be having those thoughts about. Besides, such fantasies were a waste on someone like her; she didn't have time for such sentimental nonsense. Taking a surreptitious deep breath, just as the elevator slowed to a halt, Riza buried her tiny moment of weakness in the darkest recesses of her mind.

The doors opened, and the six of them filtered out into the hallway. Havoc grimaced, rubbing at a sore shoulder. "The next time we have to travel somewhere, let's pick a hotel with bigger elevators," he grumbled. "Breda had me shoved against the wall the entire time."

"Says the guy who had his bony elbow jabbing me in the back," the red-haired man returned with a glare.

"Take it easy." Roy interrupted the impending argument, though not sharply. "The two of you still have to be roommates for the night. Don't start off trying to kill each other."

Galvanizing her thoughts into motion, Riza spoke up, taking care that her voice wouldn't betray any eyebrow-raising emotions. "Speaking of tonight, I'd suggest that everyone try and get a decent amount of sleep. Our train leaves at nine tomorrow morning, meaning we need to be packed and out of the hotel by eight."

Fuery stifled a yawn. "You don't have to tell me twice. Good night, everyone." With a chorus of murmured good nights, the six of them filtered off to their rooms. Fuery and Falman shared one, and Breda and Havoc had another, leaving their two superiors to their separate single rooms.

Standing in front of her door, just lifting the key to the lock, Riza heard that oh-so-familiar footstep behind her. Not bothering to keep his voice quiet, Roy said, "If you don't mind, I'd like a look at the itinerary for tomorrow."

"Of course." Turning the key, she pushed the door open, and held it for him. He passed her without a word, hands casually in his pockets. She let the door close, following him across to the room's desk. Brown eyes watched as he turned on the desk lamp, and picked up the file lying there, studying the contents. "What exactly are you looking for, sir?"

"Nothing, really." Dark eyes never left the page. "I'm just wondering what had you so uptight in the elevator, and if you're all right."

. . . _He noticed that_? Folding her hands behind her back, Riza kept her usual impassive mask in place. "It's nothing I can't handle, sir. I'm fine."

"I see." He flipped the file closed, dropping it casually back to the polished desk; his eyes slid sideways to look at her. "I thought it might have something to do with six people stuck in one elevator. A little bit of claustrophobia." He turned, taking a step in her direction; he was too close now. Riza automatically took a step away, her back fetching up against the wall.

"But then again," Roy said quietly, with just the hint of a smirk, "you've never really had that problem, have you."

She almost expected to feel light-headed; to her mild surprise, she was as calm as ever. "No, I haven't." Riza held his gaze, neither speaking for a long moment. He was watching her closely, no doubt trying to figure out what it was he'd picked up on that she was so determined not to tell him.

Maybe she should say it. If there was one thing Roy took as a challenge, it was information being dangled in front of his nose, then being told he couldn't have it. It had been that way with her father's research, with finding Hughes' murderer . . . . With his track record, she wouldn't be surprised if he tried to —

"If I noticed it at all, it has to be something pretty significant," he said, voice still soft. The smirk had faded into a calm smile. "Come on, you've shared darker secrets than this before, right? What's one more, between you and me? You know you can trust me."

— persuade her . . . . No, she was stronger than this. In this battle of wills, she _would_ win.

"I'm sure I can, sir," she said matter-of-factly. "But as I said, it's nothing I can't handle. If you've finished with the itinerary, I think I'd like to turn in for the night."

His eyes narrowed, not out of spite, but curiosity at her consistent dodging of his subtle interrogation. As she moved to step around him, he caught her lightly by the hand. "Hold it, soldier. I didn't say anything about you being dismissed." He was completely serious as he added, "I don't want to pull rank on you, Riza. But I will if I have to."

And she knew he would. They worked closely enough together that Roy seldom had to give her a direct order, unless it was for the sake of appearances, around other high-ranking officers; most of the time, Riza was able to anticipate what had to be done, and acted on it. For him to make the suggestion, he was very serious indeed.

At the same time, he'd used her first name, which meant he was confident they were completely alone. The way he said it set it bouncing around her mind, the sound repeating itself over and over. Something that felt like a static charge buzzed at the back of her neck, a shiver waiting to go down her spine if he said it again.

She took a step back to where she had been before, though it put her back against the wall again. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize we weren't finished with our discussion," she said. "If you want to give me that order, you're welcome to do so, but I'm afraid it would be a waste of your time."

Roy stared at her for a moment, confusion taking the place of everything else. ". . . What the hell has gotten into you?"

Taken aback by the undertone of hurt in his voice, Riza didn't reply, though her surprise registered on her face. Unconsciously drawing her lower lip between her teeth, she tried to think of what to say next. Her eyes left Roy's, travelling down to glance briefly at his lips before she turned her head to the side, looking away. Maybe winning this battle wasn't that important . . . .

He went very still, then. "Riza . . . ." The electrical charge at the base of her neck went racing down her back; she tensed. "It's about me, isn't it." His hands went to her shoulders, the worry evident in his voice now. "What did I do? Just talk to me; we'll sort it out."

"It's not the sort of thing that just talking means the end of it," she said, giving him a sidelong glance. She watched as he frowned briefly in puzzlement . . . and then the metaphorical lightbulb came on.

"Oh . . . ." Roy smiled. "That's what this is about? I have to basically _interrogate_ you to figure out that you _noticed_ me? Why didn't you just say so?"

Riza folded her arms, waiting for the inevitable bout of laughter that was no doubt on its way. "Some of us have a harder time expressing our feelings," she said dryly. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm one of them."

"You're right; I'm sorry." He kept a lid on the snicker that obviously wanted to escape, but the smile remained on his face. His hands dropped to his sides. "So. What do you suggest I do with this newfound knowledge? We've obviously done the talking part, but as you said, just talking won't be the end of it."

Riza's eyes went to his lips again, set in that trickster's grin. "I did say that, didn't I . . . ."

He was closer now, and as always, her heart began to beat just a little faster at the scent of him. "Yes, you did."

Her back pressed against the wall as he kissed her, his touch returning, this time at her sides. Unbidden, Riza's hands rose to his shoulders. The feel of his lips on hers was cautious, almost tentative; he was testing the waters, so to speak, testing her responses before he —

In the next instant, Roy had closed the gap still remaining between them. Riza's eyes snapped open as he broke for breath; he was already watching her to gauge her reaction. This was worse than in the elevator; practically every inch of his body was aligned tightly against hers, and this time, there was no trying to ignore it. That moment of weakness she had ruthlessly buried just five minutes earlier came screaming back to life.

". . . Oh, what the hell," she murmured, only half to herself.

There was nothing cautious or careful about the kiss now; only desperation to reach a high that was just around the corner. Riza's fingers sought out and undid the closures on his uniform jacket, pushing it down off his shoulders even as he worked his arms out of the sleeves. The stiff blue material dropped to the carpet, and hers followed suit shortly after.

Riza inhaled sharply at the feel of his fingertips on her back, slipping under the soft fabric of her customary black shirt. Roy jumped at the sound, pulling back to look at her in mild alarm. "What—" He was only slightly out of breath.

She shook her head. "It startled me a little . . . it's okay." One corner of her mouth curled in a tiny, sly smile. "It's nothing you haven't seen before, anyway."

"Hmm. That was a long time ago." Roy grinned, one finger stroking along the ridge of her spine; that sent her pushing closer against him in a reflex to escape the tickle. "Maybe I've forgotten what it looks like."

"It's on your gloves, Roy."

". . . That was a perfectly good line until you wrecked it." His eyes narrowed in mock severity. "You're going to pay for that . . . ." He renewed his 'attack' on her lips, his free hand going to the back of her head. He undid the clip holding her hair twisted up in its usual style; the blonde strands dropped to her shoulders as he tossed the clip to the floor with their jackets. His fingers threaded their way through the soft tresses.

One by one, she undid the buttons on his shirt; one hand pressed itself to his chest over his heart. Pushing gently, Riza followed him back toward the bed.

"Gotta wonder where a nice girl like you learned how to act like this," Roy murmured, sinking down to sit on the edge of the mattress. "They give you extra classes at the Academy for this sort of thing?"

"You would be the first to volunteer as a test subject if they did, wouldn't you." Settling herself across his lap, she slid her arms up over his shoulders as his did the same around her waist.

"Can you blame me? Especially if any of the students are half as pretty as you?" He grinned, kissing her lightly. "Come on, where's that smile from before? At least let yourself have a little fun with this; you're too serious."

"Maybe I'm out of practice; this hasn't happened for a long time," she reminded him. "Not since that time we visited Maes and Gracia in Central, right after Elicia was born. That was just over three years ago —" She froze, her gaze drifting to one side. "Oh no . . . ."

Roy watched her eyes widen, his arms tightening protectively around her in reflex. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Central," she breathed. "We have to be on the train to Central tomorrow morning."

"Okay . . . ." Wary, and still concerned, he forced his embrace to relax. "And how does that have a bearing on what we were just doing? That's not until tomorrow; we can still —"

Her voice was low as she cut him off. "If we do this now, it's going to be very obvious tomorrow morning how tired we are. All four of the men know neither of us brought work with us that would keep us up, and last they knew, you were just coming in here to 'look at the itinerary.' They'll know something happened."

"How can you be sure?"

". . . Do I need to remind you how uncannily observant Falman is? If he notices, he's going to share."

Roy stared at her for a moment, before letting go and dropping flat onto his back. "You and your damn logic," he groaned, one palm reaching up to smack against his own forehead. "I would have been perfectly happy not thinking about that. Ignorance is bliss, Riza!"

"I know; I'm sorry." She leaned forward, ducking past his arm to give him one last apologetic kiss. "You can still stay here tonight if you want. But sleeping _will_ be a priority."

He lifted the hand from his eyes, smiling ruefully. "I guess, either way, I'll still have the knowledge that I slept with you, just not in the usual sense. You've got a deal."

"Thank you." Her sly smile from a moment earlier returned. "And don't steal the covers like last time."

* * *

The phone on the bedside table rang, jolting her out of what was the most peaceful rest she'd had in a long time. Riza lifted her head sharply, sleep-tousled hair falling into her eyes as she frowned in sleep-fogged confusion at the noisy device. Who was calling her this early in the morning? The arm around her waist tightened as Roy snuggled closer.

"If you don't shoot it," he growled, "I will."

It all came rushing back in a flood of memory. The elevator, the 'interrogation,' the realization that they couldn't go through with it, at least not then . . . and the feeling of security as she drifted off, held close to Roy's chest with his quiet breathing in her ear and his heartbeat against her back.

"Sshh, just stay quiet." Reaching forward, she caught hold of the receiver, bringing it to her ear. "Hello?"

"_Morning, Lieutenant._" A tired-sounding Havoc seemed to be fighting back a yawn. "_Just got the wake-up call from the front desk; they asked me to pass it on to you._"

Right. Morning. The train to Central . . . . Almost on cue, Roy's arm tugged her back; she let herself be pulled back down, phone still in hand. "All right; thank you." She suppressed a reflexive 'hunh' as her bed partner's weight pressed down on her hip.

"_Oh - you might want to go over and check on the Colonel. I tried calling him first, but he didn't pick up._" A grin crept into his tone. "_No offense, but you're the only one brave enough to go in there and turf him out of bed._"

Roy was nose-to-nose with her now; dark eyes narrowed as they darted meaningfully toward the phone. "Understood. You and the others focus on getting ready; I'll deal with him." She waited until she heard the click before shifting her hand to cover the speaking end of the receiver, lowering her voice to just one shade higher than a whisper. "Good morning, sir."

"Wait a sec." He kissed her, like the night before, long and almost desperate. When he at last broke for air, he grinned. "Now it's a good morning."


	11. Semper Fidelis

_A/N: This is based on an episode of JAG (Judge Advocate General). I watched it with my mother (a huge fan of the show) and all I could picture was Riza being put into the same situation. So enjoy! It might get a little intense; try not to bite your fingernails completely off. ;)_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Semper Fidelis**

The drill sergeant's scornful gaze watched the platoon of fresh recruits going double-time on the obstacle course. Women from a dozen different walks of life, their hair either cropped short or pulled tightly back, sprinted along a sand track, swung across raised bars or from knotted ropes above slippery mud pits. Others leapt a series of log hurdles, belly-crawled under barbed wire that stood a foot above the dirt, or took running jumps at a seven-foot vertical wall, climbing up and over before moving on.

In the middle of it all, one unfortunate woman collapsed at the edge of the mud pit.

The recruit just in front of her paused to look back, then reached out a hand. "Come on, Barrett. Don't let the Sergeant see you."

"I can't," the first woman panted, bent double with her hands on her knees. "I can't do it. My side is killing me . . . ." Her helper's face softened a little. Pulling a canteen from the small of her back, the second woman opened it, and held it out to Barrett . . . just as a sharp whistle sounded.

"Private Aarens! Private Barrett!" Both women came swiftly to attention as the drill sergeant stalked over. Barrett winced visibly as the movement pulling at the pain in her side. "This isn't tea time, ladies! Keep moving!"

Aarens kept her eyes forward, her voice ringing out loud and clear. "Understood, ma'am! But Private Barrett is dehydrated; she needs water, ma'am!"

"What did you say?!" the sergeant hollered, almost nose-to-nose with Aarens. "Do you dare disrespect me, Private?"

"Ma'am! No, ma'am!"

"Do you think that I don't see what goes on on my field?"

"Ma'am! No, ma'am!" Aarens barely paused for breath. "With all due respect, ma'am, Private Barrett _does_ need water!"

A loud slap sounded across the training field, before the drill instructor's hands shot out, catching Aarens on the shoulders and shoving her forcefully backward. The unfortunate Private held a brief battle with equilibrium before falling backward, straight into the mud pit. Mud splattered everywhere, coating her already dirtied fatigues and sending brown flecks into her blonde hair.

"Private Aarens, even if I didn't see half of what went on out here, I would sure as hell notice your insubordinate attitude!" The sergeant pointed to the dust in front of her boots. "Out of that hole, on your face, and give me twenty!"

With stone-faced dignity, Aarens pulled herself to the edge of the mud pit, slipping and sliding. Dropping to her knees, she stretched forward, starting in on the ordered push-ups. The drill sergeant's boot pressed against her spine, forcing her to put more effort into the exercise.

"You mark my words, Private," the officer said, voice low. "If you so much as _think_ about sassing me again, I'll tan your backside so well, you'll stand at attention for a week rather than sit down. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Aarens said, trying not to let it show that she was fighting for breath. Her arms gave out as the drill sergeant shoved with the foot to her back, sending her face-first into the dirt.

"You remember who's in charge here, Private. You remember it damn well." Turning on her heel, she marched off along the course, leaving a muddied and breathless Riza Hawkeye — or rather, 'Private Aarens' — staring after her.

* * *

The silhouette came around the corner of the building, and she shifted in the shadows. "Over here, sir."

Roy paused for a moment, until his eyes found his lieutenant in the gloom, sitting cross-legged on the ground. Between two buildings like this, in the middle of the night, the darkness was especially deep. "Hey. How did it —" As he got closer, his eyes widened. "Oh, damn . . . ."

"Would you believe me if I told you that it doesn't feel as bad as it looks?" Riza gave a half smile, the still-visible slap mark on the side of her face shifting with the movement. "I looked worse after my first time at boot camp."

He crouched in front of her, one hand going to her injured cheek. "Forget the assignment; I'm pulling you out of here."

"Sir, no." Reaching up, she caught hold of his wrist. "I have a chance at this. Let me see it through, at least for another few days."

She watched as he gritted his teeth, clearly loath to leave her in a situation where she could be hurt again. "Riza, this is crazy. Investigating them from the inside is one thing, but not to the point where something like this happens!" His expression dropped into something almost helpless, his voice becoming little more than a mutter. His thumb brushed gently over the bruise. "I don't want this to break you."

"It won't." Her hand shifted, fingers curling around his. "After my first trip through here, and after Ishval, there's nothing that sergeant can throw at me that I can't handle. I'll be fine; I promise."

At last, he smiled, if only half-heartedly. "I'll hold you to that." Dropping his hand away from her face, he settled into a more comfortable sitting position. "What have you found out?

"There are two drill instructors that train female recruits," Riza explained. "The ones in charge of this platoon are Sergeant Remmen and Master Sergeant Whitfield; Whitfield is the one who did this." She pointed to her cheek. "She seems to enjoy paying special attention to me, making use of every opportunity to single me out. Not an unusual tactic for a DI."

"What about the Private that you replaced? The one who was allegedly murdered?"

"No one is saying much about it; I'm fairly certain that Remmen and Whitfield have issued direct orders not to speak about Private Romarck's death." Riza gave him a meaningful look. "That in itself should be cause for suspicion."

"If one of the DIs had something to do with it, they certainly wouldn't want that information getting around," Roy mused, propping his chin in one hand. "I'll look into it a little more, see if they have alibis for the night Romarck was killed."

Riza nodded. "You should know, sir, that the night Romarck died, one of the other girls, Private Barrett, saw her sneaking out of the barracks. The next morning, Romarck was dead, tangled in the barbed wire on the obstacle course; a section she had already gotten stuck in during that day's exercises."

Frowning, Roy thought the information over. "Could be that she snuck out to practice on her own in the middle of the night. Without someone to help her, she could have gotten tangled in the wire, gotten it wrapped around her neck . . . . You get the idea."

"I do . . . but I'm not sure I agree with it." Riza nodded toward the darkened barracks across the nighttime compound. "Colonel, when these girls finish their exercises for the day, they eat, they get one hour of free time, and then it's lights out. The moment their heads hit the pillow, they're asleep. They're exhausted."

"Private Barrett was somehow awake enough to see Private Romarck sneak out in the middle of the night," Roy pointed out. "For Romarck to be up and about, it must have been something important."

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

He regarded her for a moment. "If the other girls are exhausted, you have to be too. If that's all the information you have for me for tonight, go back to the barracks. Get some sleep." Getting to his feet, Roy held out a hand to help her up. "You're doing great so far. Just keep your head down, and your nose clean. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." She smiled slightly, brown eyes checking the area to make sure they were alone. "But if I might be permitted just one indiscretion before I go?"

Between the two of them, the word 'indiscretion' could mean any number of things; none of them being things Roy ever really felt like denying her. "Go ahead," he said casually.

In the next instant, her body was pressed against his as she gave him a single long, fierce kiss. He very nearly lost his balance, but managed to stay upright thanks to her grip on his jacket. Breaking free, Riza took a deep breath, exhaling in satisfaction. ". . . I needed that. Thank you."

He was slightly more out of breath. ". . . Anytime. I'll meet you tomorrow. Same time, same place."

"I'll be here." Turning, she started off through the dark, her fingertips trailing briefly across his chest before the contact was broken as she left. Roy watched her go, waiting until she turned the corner before going his own way, heart pounding and lips feeling like they were on fire.

* * *

"Hey; Aarens?"

Riza looked up at the pseudonym, smiling at Barrett, who stood in front of her. "What is it?"

The other woman tilted her head to where Master Sergeant Whitfield was barking at another recruit. "I heard the Dragon-Lady say we're doing a five-mile run, in pairs." She smiled ruefully. "Make that a five-mile three-legged race. We get to choose partners; want to be mine?"

"Sure." Face straight, she added, "But it might be dangerous to let the recruits pair up. We might turn on them."

Barrett grinned. "Too true."

Within fifteen minutes, the paired-off platoon was waiting at the starting line, the two drill instructors pacing in front of them. "Listen up, you sorry excuses for soldiers!" Remmen barked. "Today's five-mile run is to be completed in pairs. You will _not_ untie yourself from your partner, you _will_ work together, and you _will_ be back here in less than one hour, before dark!"

"On your marks!" Whitfield raised a pistol. "Get set! MARCH!" _Bang!_

Riza didn't have time to contemplate how firing a gun into the air could potentially kill someone when the bullet fell to earth; Barrett was already moving, and it was keep up, or fall on her backside in the dirt. The two women quickly fell into a rhythm, arms linked at the elbow as they moved at a fast jog. The other pairs around them gradually spread out, the more coordinated runners pulling ahead. For the first twenty minutes, 'Aarens' and Barrett held their own, somewhere in the middle ground.

Until suddenly, the cord tying their ankles together yanked painfully as Barrett went down.

Riza caught herself on the ground, palms grinding hard on the gravel. Beside her, Barrett yelped as her ankle was twisted; Riza hurriedly turned her leg to lessen the other's discomfort. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm sorry!" Barrett rubbed at her rear, grimacing. "I must have taken a bad step . . . ." She looked up at the last of the other pairs passing them by. "I have a bad ankle from when I was a kid, and it sometimes gives out on me."

"It's all right. Do you need a break?" Riza glanced at her watch. "We've got time for five minutes, if you need to."

". . . . That sounds good." Barrett grinned, reaching for the cord. "A couple of speedsters like us? We'll catch up in no time."

Her foot free, Riza stood, dusting herself off. "What did you do to your ankle to injure it?"

"Oh, you know. Just running around as a teenager."

Riza looked over at her partner . . . and abruptly froze. Barrett was still sitting on the ground, casually studying a wickedly sharp blade in her hands, turning it over and over. The brunette wore a small smile. ". . . . Barrett, what are you doing?"

"Me? I'm not doing anything." The other got to her feet, watching her 'partner' intensely. "But you know . . . I _am_ getting a little pissed off at the way you've been snooping around here the past week. You're working with that handsome guy with the dark hair, right? Colonel What's-his-name."

"That's right." Riza kept her voice calm, and her eyes away from the knife. There was no point trying to deny it. "I was sent to look into Private Romarck's death from the inside, in case someone in the platoon, or one of the DIs was responsible. Am I to take it that you had something to do with it?"

"Not something, no." Barrett grinned, and in her eyes, Riza caught just a hint of madness. "I had _everything_ to do with it."

How had this girl managed to sneak such blatant psychopathic tendencies past the psychological evaluation? Not important, Riza decided. What was important was that she get the knife away from Barrett before the other had a chance to use it. "This has gone far enough," she said quietly, holding out a hand. "Give me the knife, Barrett. It doesn't have to end this way."

The other woman laughed aloud. "Ohhhh, I'm _so_ sorry, Aarens, if that's even your real name. I don't like to share my knife." She sobered, tilting her head curiously. "What _is_ your name, anyway?"

Almost reflexively, the blonde stood a little straighter. "My name is Riza Hawkeye. The man you mentioned earlier is my commanding officer, Colonel Roy Mustang."

Barrett whistled quietly. "Really . . . . He _is_ as pretty as they say. You've worked with him for a while, huh?" At the confirming nod, her casual demeanour vanished in a shrug. "That's too bad. He'll probably miss you."

With that, she lunged forward and slashed.

Riza jumped backward, but not quickly enough; the knife opened a gash across her palm where her hand had still been extended. She hissed in pain, but kept her eyes on Barrett. The brunette paused for a moment, weighing her options before turning and sprinting off the track into the woods.

"Barrett!" Springing into motion, Riza sped after her, following the white T-shirt through the dim forest. She had to end this quickly; with the sun going down, it was going to get very dark, very quickly, and she did _not_ want to be facing a homicidal knife-wielding madwoman under those circumstances.

_And Roy doesn't even know . . . . _

Up ahead, she watched as Barrett suddenly dropped up to her waist into the ground with a startled yell. Skidding to a halt, Riza squinted, trying to see what was happening through the gathering darkness. She edged closer, watching her would-be murderer floundering in what looked like liquid sand.

Barrett caught sight of her, eyes wide and panic-stricken. "It's a sinkhole," she whimpered, voice shaking. "Aarens, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry! You have to help me!" She reached out. "Please! I'm sorry; I'll do anything, I swear!"

"Where's your knife?" Riza asked calmly, not moving from her spot on solid ground.

"I dropped it, it sank already." Barrett's voice cracked. "Please, you have to get me out of here! I'm so sorry! I don't care if I go to prison, but don't let me die, Aarens!"

Wordlessly, Riza moved around the edge of the sinkhole, taking careful steps. To one side, barely a metre away from Barrett, was a dead tree with thick, leafless limbs, one of which hung over the sand just out of her reach. Climbing onto it, Riza lay flat and stretched out her hands. Barrett immediately clamped onto them like a leech.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you . . . ." She smiled weakly. "You're gonna pull me out now, right?"

Brown eyes stared back impassively. "Not just yet."

"What? Why?!" The panic seemed to flare again. "You have to pull me out! Please, it feels so _weird_!"

"You're a soldier, Barrett; tough it out." Riza's eyes narrowed. This wasn't recruit to recruit anymore; this was officer to subordinate. "I'm not about to bring you out when I'm by myself; you've already tried to kill me once, and I'm not going to give you another chance. I made a promise to someone, years ago, and I have every intention of keeping it."

The other woman's lip twisted. "B****," she said, her voice hardly above a whisper. "You're just like Romarck was. Focussed on being the perfect little soldier. I _hate_ that."

"Funny; I'm not too fond of you either, right now," Riza answered calmly. "Is that why you killed her? Because you didn't like her attitude toward her training?"

"It was so pathetic!" Barrett spat. "She messed up on the obstacle course, got her foot stuck in the barbed wire. She wasn't hurt or anything, but Johnson had to go back in and help her get out. Little Miss Perfect couldn't take that, and she wouldn't shut up about it. She said she 'had to do better,' and 'had to focus more.' So I thought, why not help her?

"I suggested that we should sneak out at night and I would help her on the obstacle course. So we did . . . ." She grinned up at Riza, that hint of insanity showing through once more. "She got herself stuck in the barbed wire again. When I went in to help her, all I did was help her get it wrapped around her neck, too."

Riza smiled grimly. "Thanks for the confession. I'll make sure they use it against you at court-martial."

"No problem." Barrett glared. "You got what you wanted. Pull me out."

"No," Riza repeated. "It won't be long before they notice we haven't come back. When they do, they'll come searching for us. We're not that far off the trail; they'll find us. And when they do, you'll wish you never saw my face."

* * *

The two of them stood to one side, watching as a handcuffed Barrett was put into a military police vehicle. As the door closed, the brunette turned to look at Riza through the window, her mouth forming yelled words that were inaudible through the glass.

Roy watched almost curiously, one hand on his Lieutenant's shoulder. "What do you think she's saying?"

"Due to the number of words beginning with 'f' . . . nothing worth repeating." Riza glanced at him. "It surprises me how well she was able to hide her instability when she wanted to. She even fooled the psychiatrist who evaluated her. And she fooled me, up until she tried to kill me."

His free hand moved to take hers, studying the bandage wrapped across her palm. "You were lucky. A couple inches higher, and that cut would be right across the artery in your wrist."

She looked his way again . . . and then moved her hand out of his grasp. "Save the concern for later, sir."

The two drill instructors stopped in front of them; Whitfield folded her hands behind her back as she spoke. "Colonel, I'd like to thank you for your work on this investigation. If you hadn't dug into Private Romarck's death, Private Barrett might have gone on to become a fully-fledged soldier, if she made it through the Academy." She looked to Riza. "Private Aarens: you're to be commended for your efforts. Until then, return to barracks."

Roy smirked. "Actually, Master Sergeant, I'm going to have to countermand that order. You see, there's something that I should mention . . . ." He indicated the blonde beside him. "I'd like you to meet my adjutant and bodyguard. First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."

For a moment, shock was all that registered on the faces of the two drill instructors. In nearly perfect unison, they came to attention, right arms raising in salute. Colour drained just slightly from Whitfield's face. "Lieutenant, I am _very_ sorry. I had no idea —"

"That _was_ the point, Master Sergeant," Riza said calmly. "At ease, both of you." She waited until their arms lowered before she continued. "I have no issue with the way you ran this platoon, Sergeant Whitfield. You're a good soldier, and you perform your duties well. But I have to wonder why you ordered your recruits not to speak of Private Romarck's death."

Whitfield almost succeeded in hiding a grimace. "You have to understand, ma'am, this sort of thing . . . if the girls let themselves think about it too much, it'll start to effect their performance. I was only trying to keep them at their best, to give them a better start at the Academy."

"I see." At last, Riza gave a small smile. "Thanks to you — and you as well, Sergeant Remmen — I think they'll do just fine."

The two drill instructors returned the smile, saluting again. "Thank you, ma'am."

Remmen took a half-step forward. "I guess this explains why the recruits wanted to show their own appreciation. If you and the Colonel will permit it, they have something they wanted to do for you."

Riza looked to Roy; he shrugged in a casual 'go ahead.' "All right. Where are they?"

Remmen's answer was to turn and put two fingers to her lips, blowing a piercing whistle. After a second's pause, the unmistakeable sound of a group of uniformly marching feet came from behind the barracks. In perfect formation, the entire platoon came forward at a quick march. They stopped in front of the sergeants, and turned as one to face the two officers. Twenty-eight right arms lifted in salute.

Leaning forward, Roy murmured in his Lieutenant's ear. "I think this is your show, Hawkeye. Take it away." He stood straight, and took a step back.

Brown eyes scanned along the rows of recruits until they found the one she was looking for. "Private Johnson: front and centre." Waiting as the young woman came forward, Riza folded her hands behind her back. "Private Barrett told me that, the day before Private Romarck died, you helped her get out the barbed wire on the obstacle course."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And were you ordered to go in, or did you turn back to help a fellow soldier?"

"I turned back." Johnson shifted nervously. "When I was younger, my mother taught me that if you have a friend in trouble, you don't leave them there if they can't get out alone. Private Romarck couldn't get out on her own, and no one else was stopping to help her. So I did."

"That's good." Reaching out, Riza put a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "A soldier is only as good as the rest of her squad. It's good to look out for yourself, but better if you also look after the others with you." She looked to the others. "That goes for all of you. Understood?"

Twenty-eight voices rang out together. "Ma'am! Yes, ma'am!"

Private Johnson returned to her place in the ranks, and Riza turned to face the platoon at large. All were still standing to attention, and now, she saluted them. "Thank you, all of you. You'll all do well, but I hope for the sake of peace, we never have to work together."

When she turned away, as the platoon marched off under the watchful eyes of the drill instructors, she found Roy smiling. "I think I've had enough of my second run through boot camp, sir."

His hand went to her shoulder again as they moved toward the car waiting to take them back to East City. "Then let's go home."

* * *

_Don't forget to review! Want to add me on Tumblr? PM me, and I'll send you my URL and follow you in return._


	12. What These Eyes Have Seen

_A/N: Here's hoping that everyone has made it through the holidays, and transitioned safely into the New Year! School's about to start back up, but updates for this and Snap Shots shall continue to come, never fear. I'm sorry, guys — this one's not Royza, but it's something just as sweet. You'll see._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**What These Eyes Have Seen**

That old nickname, 'The Hawk's Eye,' seemed pointless now. The pun was no longer amusing when the hawk was under the eye of an eagle. And on this tour of the Southern Headquarters, Riza was being kept under a very close eye indeed.

It seemed that even as she stood behind the chair occupied by Führer-President King Bradley, he was watching her. For all she knew, maybe he was. Some reflection from across the room? Pride watching from some tiny shadow in a corner? Bradley was a Homonculus: maybe he even had some secret eye in the back of his head. Nothing like that would surprise her at this point.

The only time she left his side now was at night, when he retired for the evening. She knew he was only keeping her nearby because Fuery was somewhere in the vicinity; what she wouldn't give to see the young man, even for five minutes. But that wouldn't be allowed, not when it meant the two of them could be plotting something.

Instead, she was standing here, as she had been for the past three hours, looking on as some general politely talked shop with Bradley, going on about this issue or that little problem. Nothing that required the Führer's attention, to be sure, and all of it was completely under control.

_Obviously not_, she thought to herself, _or else you wouldn't be complaining about it in the first place._

She was careful to keep her irritation with the pudgy general off her face, lest her expression betray her. That was something she certainly didn't need right now . . . and she wasn't sure that if he challenged her, she wouldn't shoot him. Regarding him calmly, watching his meaty lips flapping as he talked, she tried to remember his name. It wasn't often that she couldn't think of someone she'd met face to face, but then again, perhaps this man was worth forgetting.

"Then there were the skirmishes we recently wrapped up on the border; we pushed Aerugo back from our trenches with ease, though we lost a few." The general sat back in his chair. "Fortunes of war, I suppose. Or as your alchemists say, equivalent exchange. We keep our land, at the cost of a few of our men."

Riza took care to avert her eyes just then. It never failed to disgust her how casually those in the higher ranks could cast aside those beneath them. Rungs on a ladder to be climbed, stepping stones across a river, or a bridge across a canyon that burned at a moment's notice: that's all they were to some of the top brass. Sickening . . . .

What was an appropriate term to call this excuse for a man . . . . Absently, she wished for Falman and his mental thesaurus, and immediately after pictured the bewildered look that would be on his face were he asked for such disrespectful terms as she wanted to use. 'Scum' wasn't strong enough. 'Bastard' was getting close, but it was used all too often to describe someone she was rather fond of, and she had no desire to associate the two. 'Asshole' would have to do.

She shook herself out of her thoughts as she abruptly realized that General Asshole was getting up to leave. Good — this little ordeal was finally over, then.

"And actually, Your Excellency . . . ." General Asshole paused, his beady little eyes shifting in her direction, "I was wondering if I might borrow your lovely assistant for just a few moments. The box of reports you requested needs to be delivered from the archives immediately, and I understand she has plenty of experience with the administration system. It would certainly help the process move faster."

Bradley nodded almost casually. "Of course; I'm sure she'd be only too happy to assist you." He turned his head, looking back at her over his right shoulder. "Wouldn't you, Lieutenant?"

She forced herself to meet that stare, reflexively stiffening her spine to prevent a telltale shiver. "Yes, sir."

* * *

"Right through here, Lieutenant."

Keeping a polite silence, Riza tried to ignore the general's hand on her back as he guided her through the door of the archives room. He probably considered it a gentlemanly gesture, even suave . . . except for the fact that, surreptitiously, his hand inched lower.

Thankfully, she was able to casually pull away as soon as she was through the door. "You'll find the box the Führer is expecting at the end of the third row. I'd help you myself, but . . ." He smiled blandly. "I'm afraid there are other matters that require my attention."

"Of course, sir." _Just admit you don't want to get your uniform dusty._ "I'm sure I can find it easily."

"Yes, I'm sure you can. And I'm sure I'll be seeing you again before you leave." Riza didn't blink as his eyes flicked down then swiftly back up. General Asshole nodded politely, then turned. "Lieutenant," he said briskly, by way of farewell.

Out of duty, she saluted his back, then turned toward the shelves he'd indicated, allowing her lip to twist in distaste. _I thought I'd realized how callous people can be in regard to the lives of others_, she thought, moving between the walls of labelled boxes. _I guess I was wrong_.

A box marked with a red square of paper folded over the edge caught her attention; a quick glance at the label confirmed it was the one she was looking for. Pulling it partway off the shelf, Riza paused. It was at least ninety-nine percent certain that, because Bradley had agreed to let her retrieve the box, whatever it contained was mundane things with nothing at all do with the Promised Day. Safe things, that it didn't matter whether she saw them or not.

On the other hand, there was that minuscule one percent chance that her enemies, thinking she would believe there was nothing particularly interesting about this box, had included important information within it. A chance like that, no matter how tiny, had to be investigated, even if the percentage of likelihood was point zero-zero-zero-one to the tenth power.

Roy would call her paranoid. Riza called herself thorough.

There was nothing sealing the box shut against prying eyes, and only an assortment of folders within. Riza tsked mentally, and pulled the box the rest of the way off the shelf, setting it on the floor. Kneeling beside it, she set about putting them in some sort of order. Just because it was another base's property didn't mean it could be left like this; not when it was being presented to the Führer, and not when it was going past her first.

_So Roy is going to reform the country, and I'm going to reform the military administration system so that it all makes _sense, she thought acidly. _Honestly, you'd think they all grew up in barnyards, the way they —_

". . . Lieutenant?!"

Her head came up sharply at the sound of a surprised voice nearby. Standing at the end of the row of shelves, bandaged in several places and smudged with dirt in several more, was a tired-looking, disbelieving Kain Fuery.

Riza blinked her own shock away from her expression. ". . . Master Sergeant." She got to her feet. "I can't say I was expecting to see you down here."

"M-Me neither, ma'am." Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Fuery hurried forward along the row. "I only came down here to get the personnel file of a friend of mine . . . ." Stopping just the other side of the box sitting on the floor, he came swiftly to attention, his right arm rising in salute as he gave a tentative smile.. "It's good to see you."

She allowed herself a smile in return. "Same to you. At ease." Brown eyes followed the stiff movement of his shoulders as his arm lowered to his side. "I have to say, Master Sergeant, you're looking a little worse for wear. They can't be working you that hard, can they?"

The young man looked away, cheeks colouring a little. "Harder than you'd expect, ma'am. But I think I understand now why you and the Colonel never talked about the time before I knew you." His eyes shifted back to her. "You know . . . when you were in the warzone."

Something icy cold and ironlike clenched itself around her heart, setting off an ache that spread through her entire chest. For a long moment, Riza stood speechless. Fuery — innocent, honest, shy Fuery — had been sent to one of the warzones? The obvious conflict was the one with Aerugo, there had been reports on that just two weeks ago, but to think that Fuery had been there . . . .

"That's . . . not an easy thing to understand," she said at last. "I'm glad to see you made it back in one piece."

"Yeah . . . ." His gaze went to the floor as he bit his lower lip. "Thanks."

They could be under surveillance at this moment, she knew. As it was, she only had a limited window of time before someone came looking for her, though that wouldn't be for about ten minutes yet. Fuery had become some sort of younger brother to her over the years they had worked together; to know that he was feeling the same kind of pain that nearly tore her apart on humid nights . . . .

Fuery shifted guiltily. "I'm sorry, ma'am; I didn't mean to go off on a tangent like that. First time I see a familiar face in weeks, and I start talking about —"

"It's fine," she said quietly, though the firm tone in her voice cut him off. Regulations be damned. Stepping around the box, she put her arms around the dark-haired young man and hugged him gently. "As I said, it's not an easy thing to understand. But I know exactly how you feel."

For a long moment, Fuery stood stock-still as though afraid to move. Riza waited. She had held everything in when she left Ishval, and it had only helped make her the way she was. She didn't want that to happen to Fuery: he deserved to smile. For now, though, he simply returned the hug, buried his face in her shoulder, and tried not cry too loudly.

* * *

_For every review, Fuery gets another hug. You don't want to deny Fuery hugs, do you? He's so freaking adorkable._


	13. Strength

_A/N: Everyone always thinks that Riza never has a weak moment when it comes to herself, that she never shows her emotions, but I think that just makes her a robot, not the kick-butt lady we've come to love. It's time to show her human side._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Strength**

He watched as she shifted in her seat on the wooden bench, his forehead furrowing quizzically. As a sniper, Riza was a master of sitting perfectly still, usually for hours on end; why was she fidgeting like that? Roy supposed the bench could be cold, but that shouldn't matter; fidgeting was simply something that Riza Hawkeye was far too in control of herself to do.

It was something to ask her about later, he decided, going back to watching their surroundings. From where he stood, fifty metres away, he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity, not eyeing up his Lieutenant. It was extremely crucial to the next stage of their plan that this information exchange go well.

Dark eyes fastened onto a man in a long, tan overcoat, following the figure just long enough to confirm the stranger's identity: definitely the man they were waiting for.

It was a classic information drop. The man joined her, setting his briefcase on the ground between them. Riza pretended to be immersed in her book and not notice. A span of ten minutes in which he browsed the newspaper. He asked her for the time; she gave it to him. He thanked her, got up, and left. A few minutes later, Riza did the same, bringing the briefcase with her.

Roy met her at the park exit. "Nice work." He slid a casual arm around her shoulders as she passed him the briefcase, the pair of them looking for all the world like an ordinary civilian couple out for a walk. "Did he say anything besides the lines he was supposed to?"

"No, sir."

His forehead furrowed again. Roy didn't expect Riza to be brimming with idle chatter, but a one-word answer and his honourific . . . . He stopped to one side of the sidewalk, out of the way of other pedestrians. "What's wrong?"

Riza looked away, around the street. Normally, she could have passed that off as her doing her job; not this time. "Nothing. You're imagining things, Colonel."

"No, I'm not," he said tersely. Arms folded, he gave her the patient look that was so often reserved for when Edward was being uncooperative. "Come on; out with it."

Her gaze returned to him, took in his expression. After a long moment, in which she visibly weighed her options, she looked away again. ". . . My stomach hurts."

"Your —" He stopped, a cautious thought — not an entirely pleasant one — occurring. "Your stomach, or . . . lower down?"

"Lower down." She took a step back out into the foot traffic. "Sir, we really should keep moving." Not making sure he was following, she moved off, and he was forced to do the same, or lose her in the bustle of the five o'clock rush. He wove through perhaps a dozen people before falling into step beside her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, voice low out of respect for her privacy. This wasn't the sort of thing one talked loudly about in public. "It must be pretty bad for you to fidget like you were."

That drew a dry, humourless smile. "It's nothing new, sir. It's been happening every month since I was fourteen. It will pass."

Roy tried not to do the math in his head. "If you say so." They crossed a street, moving to the car they'd left parked at the curb. As a matter of gentlemanly principle, Roy opened Riza's door for her, waiting for her to settle into the leather seat before closing it again. He crossed to his side, got in, and set the briefcase between them.

No sooner did he let go of the handle than Riza took hold of it. She lifted the case onto her lap, folded her hands on top of it; Roy simply quirked an eyebrow. ". . . I feel better if I'm holding onto something," she said quietly, in answer to his unspoken question. "I don't know why. I just do."

"I'm not judging," he replied. He started the car, put it in gear, and pulled away from the curb.

The drive through the city was near-silent and uneventful. Riza obviously didn't feel much like talking, and Roy wasn't going to push her. The sun had set by the time they wound their way to the safehouse; Riza waited in the car as a lookout while Roy went inside to drop the briefcase and its contents with Falman.

When he returned, he left the car turned off. "So. Feeling any better?"

Riza sighed so quietly, he almost didn't hear. "When I'm not thinking about it, yes. But every time you ask about it, I think about it. Please, just let it go."

"Hey, I'm allowed to worry about you every once in a while," Roy shot back. "Stop keeping everything all bottled up. If there's something I can do to help, tell me. Anything at all."

For a long moment, she stayed silent, her eyes on the floorboards. Even between the two of them, with their level of communication so astronomically high, this was an awkward subject for her. Personally, Roy didn't care — he had grown up around his aunt and her girls, and had been subjected to too many rants and complaints about their cycles to really mind anymore — but it was rare that Riza be this visibly affected by it.

At long last, she reached for her pocket. "Do you still have that bottle of water you got earlier?"

"Right here." Reaching into the back, he grabbed the half-full container and passed it to her. Riza produced a small, opaque white bottle, and opened it to shake two small white pills into her palm. "Painkillers?"

She nodded. "If I want to get through this, I have to take two every four hours." One by one, she put the little tablets in her mouth, and washed them down with a drink from the water bottle.

Roy watched. "Did you take any before now?"

"Two before I left home this afternoon," Riza answered. She looked up and out the front windshield of the car. "That was five hours ago. Sir, we should move along; we don't want to draw attention by having the car just sitting here."

Reluctantly, he settled himself properly behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled away. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Riza toying with the bottle cap, twisting off and on and back again. Fidgeting. "The pain gets that bad in the hour between the medication wearing off and you taking another dose?"

"It can." She smiled again, still with no real strength behind it. "Believe me, Rebecca could tell you stories."

"Really? Like what?"

Those whisky-brown eyes rolled skyward in a silent plea for patience. "Halfway through our first year at the Academy, there was one month where the pain was bad, and since I had classes from eight in the morning until six at night, I didn't have an opportunity to take painkillers." She paused, and Roy glanced over in time to catch the slightest bit of red in her cheek before she looked away. "Rebecca had to half-carry me back to the dorms."

Roy bit his tongue to keep from laughing. "What about in Ishval? I know for a fact that you didn't have a bottle of pills in your pocket. Where would you even get them?"

"They were in the very bottom of my kit," Riza countered. "There was a company medic that kept me supplied; he passed it off as a 'prescription for an underlying condition' that was 'non-detrimental to military service.'"

"Clever."

"We thought so."

They continued to ride in silence for a few moments. Riza's fingers still toyed with the bottle cap, and Roy turned a certain thought over in his mind. Their last part in today's little operation had been to deliver the intel to Falman; that done, their time was their own. To have an alibi, the plan had been for the two of them to visit East City's annual Solstice Light Garden: the largest park in the area, decorated with thousands of tiny coloured lights, that was a favourite haunt for city-dwellers this time of year.

The decision had to be made now. Three streets ahead, if he turned right, it would take them to Victory Park and the Light Garden. But if he turned left, it would take them to Riza's apartment.

"Hey, listen . . . ." Movement in his peripheral indicated that she turned to look at him. "If you're not feeling the greatest, do you want me to just take you home? I don't mind." He glanced her way, flashing a smile. "The Light Garden will still be there some other night."

She didn't return the smile. "We need to have an alibi, sir. In case something goes wrong."

"We will. We can say you were under the weather, and that you called me to help you out. Like you needed something picked up from the store. No one will think anything of it; everyone here knows us too well."

Two streets to go. Riza looked away out the front window, visibly wrestling with her answer. Roy stayed quiet, letting her work it out herself. One street . . . .

"If you don't mind . . . then yes. I think I'd prefer to go home." He braked just in time to make the turn; the car swung around the corner to the left.

"Home it is," he murmured. Unwilling to let silence permeate the vehicle, he reached out a hand. "You know, if you want something to hold — if it makes you feel better — you can use this."

Riza looked at his hand for a moment, then slowly set the water bottle aside. Her fingers laced themselves through his, their hands settling to the leather of the seat in between them. But she didn't smile. Looking out the window again, her lips compressed with that irritated look she got whenever she caught him asleep on his paperwork.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, mostly to herself. "I should be stronger than this."

Roy was surprised by this; it was rare that Riza voiced annoyance at herself. That was usually a private war she waged alone. "You have to admit," he said diplomatically, "that it's not like this is something where you control what happens."

"I have at least _some_ control," she pointed out. "I could have taken the painkillers sooner, I could have stuck with the plan to go to the Light Garden, instead of being a sissy about —"

His hand wriggled free of hers, lifting to deliver a soft tap to the back of her head. "Enough," he said firmly. Her head whipped around to stare at him. "Riza, you push yourself all the time; take a chance like this to relax once in a while. If anything, you deserve it." Forced to stop the car for a red light, he looked over at her. "This is not your fault. Am I clear, Lieutenant?"

She stared at him, with a look that could only be described as 'perplexed.' "I . . . ." She stopped as his eyebrows lowered in warning. ". . . Yes, sir. Understood."

The light changed, and the car got underway once again. Roy returned his hand to hers, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the backs of her fingers. "To tell the truth, if the positions were reversed, I don't think I could stand pain like that every month," he said, breaking into a small grin. "You don't have to be strong enough to walk around like nothing's wrong all the time; it takes strength to get through it every month for years on end."

At last, she smiled wanly. "I'd like to be that strong."

Roy's smile widened. "Wouldn't we all. But you're strong enough for any purpose you're needed for." Pulling over to the curb outside her building, he parked and shut off the engine. Without hesitating, he leaned across the seat toward her; his hand turned her face toward him just in time to meet his kiss.

When he pulled away, he had the pleasure of seeing Riza's eyes wide in surprise; still staring at him, she slowly licked her lips and swallowed hard. Roy smiled. "Besides. I rather you be human instead of strong."

At last, the smile she gave was genuine. "I'll do my best."


	14. Driven

_A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken so long for me to update this. First, I got majorly stuck, and then I got completely distracted. But now my summer's wide open, so I'm hoping to get a bunch of chapters up. ^^_

_I do not own FMA. _

* * *

**Driven**

She was hesitant, standing there, staring at the object in front of her. Riza's fingers twisted nervously around themselves as she fidgeted, uncertainty clear in her brown eyes. "Roy, I . . . I don't know. This can't possibly be a good idea. If somebody ever found out —"

"Nobody is going to know. We're on a back road, no one around to see at all." he assured her, smiling encouragingly. "Look, if it's because you're not old enough —"

"No, it's not that. Well . . . actually, it's partially that, partially the fact that I'm not licensed." Riza shrugged. "You don't drive a car without a license, Roy. The police around here really crack down on that, if they catch you. There were these three boys from my school who went for a joyride and —"

His hand clamped itself over her mouth, the reassuring smile gone. "Riza, you're worrying over nothing. Over-thinking. You'll do fine, as long as you trust me. Okay?" She hesitated another second, then nodded. "All right. Get in."

Settled behind the steering wheel, Riza listened as the teenage boy in the passenger seat explained the pedals and gearshift. And then it was time. Feet pressed to the clutch and brake, she turned the key, listening as the engine rumbled to life. Roy grinned. "All right; put it into first, let off the brake, and ease off the clutch."

Drawing her lower lip between her teeth in concentration, Riza moved the gearshift left, then forward; the tone of the motor changed. First her right, then her left foot drew slowly back, in time with Roy's murmured 'easy . . .' and the car began to inch forward. So far, so good. Almost instinctively, her right foot moved to press down on the gas pedal; the vehicle picked up speed, along with her heart.

"Okay, here's where it gets tricky," Roy was saying. "Once you get used to it, you'll be able to tell when you need to switch gears, but for now I'll help you out." His eyes were on the gauges in front of her. "Okay . . . next gear."

Riza pulled the gearshift back . . . not fast enough. The engine stalled, the car slowed, and came to a halt. Pulling her hands off the wheel, the girl in the driver's seat leaned back, looking wary. ". . . What did I do?"

Roy smiled, shaking his head. "It's all right; it's not going to blow up or anything. You just switched gears a little too late. It's just something you have to get the hang of, that's all. Here: let's make this a little easier." Turning, he squirmed into the car's back seat.

"Wait, what are you —" An arm reached past her right shoulder, Roy's hand settling over hers on the gearshift. Riza tensed.

"There. Now I can see the dash, meaning it's easier to help you." That trickster's grin was evident in his voice. "Relax, I'm not going to try anything." He pushed the lever back into the neutral position. "Come on: give it another go."

He lifted his hand, and she moved hers to turn the key, feet pressed against the brake and clutch. The engine turned over, rumbling quietly under the hood. Riza returned her hand to the gearshift, and Roy's covered it again, his fingers fitting easily between hers.

"Okay, here we go. Easy does it . . . ."

They shifted into first gear, and Riza eased her foot off the clutch. The car started forward again, and she stepped gently on the gas. Roy's free hand settled on her shoulder as he murmured, "Listen for it: when you hear the engine noise peak, shift gears. Ready . . . second gear."

With his hand on hers, she slid the lever back: this time the engine noise dropped but stayed constant. She broke into a smile, risking a glance back over her shoulder. "Keep going?"

"Keep going. Here it comes again — hey, eyes on the road."

* * *

"Are you crazy?!" He hollered, wide-eyed in the passenger seat. "You're going to kill us both, driving like this!"

Teeth gritted, Riza glanced in the rearview mirror at the car pacing them from behind. "It's either me or our friends back there, Colonel, which would you prefer?"

"At least with you, I know the only guns present aren't aiming for me," he muttered, one hand still in a white-knuckled grip on the door handle. He looked up, away from the streets rushing past . . . and paused. "You know . . . we could return fire if we wanted to . . . ."

She glanced his way, then up at the rectangular glass pane in the roof. "I'm beginning to think you're crazier than I am." Putting her eyes back to the road, she shook her head. "At any rate, it's too dangerous. All you would be is a target; a mostly stationary target, I might add."

"Do you have a better idea?" When she didn't answer except to visibly re-clench her jaw, Roy reached up, and opened the sunroof. "Just try to drive steady while I'm up here, okay? Last I checked, I didn't fly particularly well."

It was just as effective to kneel on the seat, facing backward, with his arms, shoulders, and head outside; less of a target, and he was still able to see past the hair whipping around his head. Roy grinned, bringing one hand up, already mentally running through the distance and speed equations needed to make this work . . . .

Riza tapped his hip. "Roy, change of plan," she said, voice tight. He looked back over his shoulder, catching sight of the bright yellow sign that warned of an upcoming dead end.

". . . Dammit . . . ."

Ducking back inside the car, he swiped his windblown hair out of his eyes. "Quick question: have you ever done a smuggler's turn before?"

"Considering I don't know what that is . . . I'm going to say no. How fast can I learn?"

"Not fast enough. We're going to have to share. Lift up." Momentarily surrendering the steering to luck, Riza lifted herself out of the seat just far enough for Roy to slip underneath before dropping back into his lap. His foot nudged hers out of the way on the gas pedal.

"Cozy," she remarked dryly. "You could have just said switch."

He smirked humourlessly, watching the approaching dead end over Riza's shoulder, judging the distance. "I thought we'd try this as a team. I'll handle the gearshift and the pedals; on my mark, twitch the wheel to the right, then steer hard left. Got it?"

"Twitch right, hard left."

"Ready . . . _go_."

The car bobbed slightly to the right just as Roy slammed on the brakes and jerked the gearshift over from fourth gear to second. He felt the wheels lock as Riza turned hard left, inertia trying to drag him to one side as the car went into a controlled skid, turning as it entered the opposite lane. It slowed, came to a stop, the headlights of the pursuing car almost painfully bright in the front window.

Roy put the car in first gear and hit the gas, starting them forward the way they'd come, rapidly switching gears as they picked up speed. "Take the next left; I want to lose these guys for good."

"Then would you mind letting me take over again?" Riza said, her voice calm.

"Right; sorry." Her foot brushed against his, just as her hand settled into place on the gearshift. With nothing to distract him from the fact that she was sitting in his lap, Roy suddenly became very acutely aware of the pressure of her body against his, that hypnotizing backside of hers nestled against his thighs —

"Don't apologize; that was incredible." Making the turn, she set the car straight before tossing him a small smile back at him, drawing him out of his thoughts. "I have to say, I'm impressed."

His free hand moved from his side to her hip as he leaned forward to rest his chin on her shoulder. "If that's what it takes to impress you, I should have done it years ago."

"Roy, I can't drive sitting like this. Go back to your own seat."

"Fiiiiine . . . ." She lifted herself off of him just long enough for him to scoot to the right, before settling back against the leather. Roy settled his arm across the back of the seat, behind her shoulders, the two of them riding on in silence. Riza turned corners at random, often back-tracking and circling to make sure their pursuers had been lost.

"I have to wonder," she said quietly, brown eyes constantly surveilling their surroundings, "where you learned to drive like that. I can't imagine the Madame having much time to teach you."

"Actually, Havoc taught me the smuggler's turn, among a few other things." Roy smirked. "You think that was incredible, you should see some of the other things he can make a car do. It's downright unbelievable."

"Would he willing to have another student?"

"No way; you're not learning from him. He's practically a maniac behind the wheel." The smirk grew into a full grin. "I got you started on the whole driving thing. I might as well see it through."


End file.
